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BOATING   TRIPS 


ON 


New  England  Rivers 


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^BOATING   TRIPS 


ON 


New  England  Rivers 


HENKY  PARKER  FELLOWS 


ILLUSTUATKI)    I!Y    WILLIS    H.    HEALS 


BOSTON 
CUPPLES,  ITPHAM,  AND  COMPANY 

©ID  Corner  Bookstore 
18.S4 


|^-(^ 


Copyright,  1884, 
15Y  CUl'l'LES,  Upiiam,  &  Co. 


PRESS  OF 

STANLEY  AND  USHER, 

BOSTON. 


To  my  friend  C.  C.  POWERS.  Esq.,  who  will,  I  imag- 
ine, take  more  pleasure  reading-  between  the  lines  than 
any  one  else  can  [)ossibly  take  in  reading  the  narratives 
themselves,  I  inscribe  our  Inland  Voyage  and  the  Trip  on 
the  Nashua. 

To  E.  T.  SLOCUM,  Es(,>.,  who  will,  I  am  sure,  if  no 
one  else  does,  i-ead  Avith  some  degree  of  interest  the  lines 
of  our  (Experiences  on  the  Housatonic,  I  dedicate  our 
Autumn   ( 'ruise. 


PREFACE. 

It  is  tlu'  iuithors  [)ur[)()se,  in  the  t'olldwiiio-  pages,  to 
describe  trips  lie  li;is  taken  in  a  skifl'.  from  sunnner  to 
sunnner.  on   mie   or  another  of    onr  lionic   rivers. 

The   initial  article  appeared,   in   part,  originally   in    the 

Boston    Courier,  and    the    Cruise    on    the    Tlousatonie    in 

the  Sprinofield  Hepiihlieaii  :   while  the  1  rip  on  the  Nashua 

is  now  published  for  the  lirst  tinie. 

H,  P.  F. 


CONTENTS. 


r.     AN    INLAND   VOYAGE    ON    THE    SUDBURY,  CONCORD. 
AND  MERRIMAC  RIVERS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Page 
South  viLLE.  —  Concokd 17 

CHAPTER  II. 
Concord :v.i 

CHAPTER  III. 

Concord.  —  Newburyport 41 

Practical  Suggestions .")4 

II.     AN  AUTUMN  CRUISE  ON  THE  HOUSATONIC. 

CHAPTER  I. 
PiTTSKiELD. — Lee fil 

CHAPTER  II. 
Lee.  —  Great  Barrington 77 

CHAPTER  III. 
Great  Barrington.  — Kent      94 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Kent.  —  Stratford 112 


xii  CONTENTS. 

III.     THE  NASHUA  RIVER. 

CHAPTKP.  I. 

"NVkST  BOYLSTON.  —  LaNCASTEI!  129 

CHAPTER  II. 
Lancastkk.  —  Groton 146 

CHAPTER  III. 
Groton.  —  Nashua .o    ...    159 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Papre 

Bkiuge  at  Southville 18 

Stone's  Bridge 27 

Sherman's  Bridge :^\ 

On  the  Sudbury       ;J2 

South  Bridge  at  Concord 3:{ 

The  Old  Manse    ....         :57 

The  Wayside 3'J 

The  Old  Xorth  Bridge 42 

Bridge  at  North  Billerica 4(1 

Hawthorne's  Writing  Desk <>4 

Pomeroy's  Lower  Mill,  Pittsfikld 00 

I>ENOx  Furnace 74 

The  Housatonic  from  Fern  (life       78 

Tanglewood 80 

SOUTH  Glendale       86 

Old  House  at  Great  JJakrington       i>0 

Great  Barrington 94 

A  ("razy  Bridge !15 

At  Falls  Village 10:J 

West  Cornwall  Brid(;e       108 

Lover's  Leap 117 

West  Boylston 131 

IIOLHROOK'S  MlLI 133 

Canal  at  West  Boylston 13.'> 

Old  Bridge  at  Boylston 137 

Mill  at  South  Lancaster 141 


xiv  LllST  OF  ILL  VSTU.  1  TIOXS.  —  .V.  I  I'S. 

(jiKOTON 1<>4 

HKIU(;K   at    IMCIM'EUKM 168 

Main  Stkkkt  BuiixiK,  Nasih  a 17:{ 

Junction  of  Nashua  and  Merkimac 1";") 


MAPS. 

Piige 

The  Sudbury,  Concord,  and  Nashua  Rivers.  (Frontispiece). 

The  Merkimac  from  TiOWEuu  to  Newburyi'ORT      ....  51 

The  Housatonic  River 03 

The  Housatonic  from  ^Monument  Mountain  to  Konkauot 

River !>!J 

The  Nashua  from  West  Boylston  to  Still  River  ViLLA(iE  153 


AN    INLAND    VOYAGE 

ON    THE 

Sudbury,  Concord,  and  Merrimac 

RIVERS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

SOUTHVILLE.  —  CONCORD. 

^  I  ^HE  source  of  the  Sudbury  River  is,  I  ^yas  about  to 
say,  amoug  the  cdouds.  It  appears  upon  eartli, 
however,  in  the  form  of  two  rivulets,  one  of  which  flows 
from  Whitehall  Pond,  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water  in  Hop- 
kinton,  and  the  other,  beginning  from  indeterminate  places 
in  Westborough,  joins  the  Hopkinton  branch  just  above 
Southville.  Which  is  the  Sudbur}-  River  we  leave  Hop- 
kinton and  Westborough  to  settle  between  them,  although 
perhaps  ere  this,  for  aught  we  know,  they  may,  iu  order  to 
avoid  controversy,  have  divided  the  honor.  After  tlie 
junction  the  river  flows  in  an  easterly  direction  to  Ash- 
land, and  thence  pursues  a  generally  northeasterly  course, 
until  with  the  Assabet,  in  Concord,  it  forms  t^he  Concord 
River. 

It  was  the  desire  of  the  writer  and  a  friend  in  taking 
a  boating  trip  down  the  river  to  obtain  a  rowboat  at  the 
pond  at  Hopkinton ;  but  it  appeared  to  be  difficult  to 
procure  a  suitable  craft,  and  it  seemed  very  doulitful 
whether  the  branch  from  the  lake,  iu  its  several  miles  of 
flow  to  the  other  branch,  was  navigable  ;  so  we  conchuled 
to  take  a  skiff  to  Southville  and  start  from  there. 


18 


iioa'J'/m;  tjhi's. 


By  virtue  ol"  an  order  ol'  Mi'.  Ilobai't,  statioii-iiiaster  of 
the  Boston  and  Albany  Railroad,  we  had  our  skiff  put  on 
board  the  baggage  car  of  the  seven  A.M.  train  from 
lioston,  upon  the  payment  of  one  extra  fare,  seventy  cents. 
We  arrived  at  Southville  soon  after  eight  o'clock,  and 
were  obliged  to  wait  in  the  station  a  couple  of  hours  oi, 


'"f 


■"'//) 


account  of  a  severe  thunder  shower.  As  the  clouds  w^ere 
})reaking  away,  we  carried  our  boat  on  a  wheelbarrow  to 
a  stone  bridge,  with  a  single  small  arch,  about  two  hundred 
feet  from  the  station,  and  launched  her  on  the  right-hand 
side,  and,  having  embarked  with  the  baggage,  pulled  down 
stream.  The  river  was  barely  wide  enough  to  allow 
free  })lay  to  the  oars.  The  water  was  sufficiently  deep, 
however,  tliough    the    river  most    of    the  way  was  filled 


77/ A'  si:i)nun\\  (joncord,  and  merrimac.         ly 

witli  beds  ol'  long',  limp,  gently  winding  blades  ot"  grass. 
Halting  at  a  leaf-embowered  bend  midway  between  Soutli- 
ville  and  Cordaville,  we  partook  of  lunch  in  a  })eautifiil 
stretch  of  sIo})ing  woods  amid  moss-gray  bowlders,  and  at 
high  noon  were  again  on  onr  way. 

We  soon  })nlled  over  a  pond  and  came  to  the  mill-dam 
at  Cor(hiville.  The  bed  of  the  river  below  the  dam  was 
dry,  so,  disembarking,  we  carried  onr  boat  around  the  mill 
on  the  left-hand  side  (left,  facing  down  stream),  and 
deposited  her  at  the  bottom  of  a  dee})  tail-race,  and 
patiently  waited  for  the  mill  to  begin  ^vork  so  that  we 
might  float  away  on  the  waste  water.  Soon  we  heard  the 
machinery  in  motion  and  quickly  the  water  rose  in  the 
canal  and  soon  carried  us  forward  under  an  arched  stone 
bridge  into  the  river.  We  then  had  rather  difhcult  work 
in  pusliing  and  poling  for  about  a  mile  until  we  came  to 
the  dam  at  Chattanooga,  having  unwisely  hurried  on  in 
the  shallow  channel  instead  of  waiting  for  the  waste 
water  from  the  mill  to  raise  the  stream.  We  were  com- 
pelled to  pull  the  boat  over  several  rocky  places,  however, 
which  are  impassable  in  a  boat  at  all  times,  except, 
})erhaps,  when  the  water  is  high,  as  in  the  S[)ring.  As  we 
were  pusliing  through  one  place  where  the  stream  was 
completely  blockaded  with  overhanging  bushes,  Bow 
found  just  beneath  his  hand  a  bird's  nest  in  which  were 
three  light  blue  eggs. 

We  liauled  up   near  the  sluice-way  in  front  of  the  mill 


20  BOATIXG   Tin  PS. 

and  carried  our  boat  on  a  wlieclbanow  about  three  hun 
dred  feet  over  a  road  past  the  right  of  the  mill,  where  the 
proprietor,  Mr.  Aldrich,  who  had  kindly  loaned  us  the 
barrow,  came  out  with  his  boys  and  wished  us  good  luck 
on  our  vo^'age.  We  pulled  under  a  bridge  of  the  Boston 
and  Albany  Railroad,  which  crosses  the  river  just  below 
the  null,  and  had  a  delightful  I'ow  in  a  narrow,  decj) 
channel  with  a  fine  current,  until  we  came  to  a  deserted 
dam.  We  pulled  to  shore  on  the  left-hand  side  and 
hauled  the  boat  over  the  framework  of  the  sluice-way  to 
the  embankment,  and  thence  into  the  canal  below,  where, 
in  still  water  under  arching  trees  which  cast  deep  shadows, 
we  poled  the  bt)at  for  about  a  hundred  yards  until  we 
emerged  into  a  pond.  Crossing  this  pond  we  came  to  a 
low  dam.  We  pulled  the  boat  over  the  middle  of  the  dam 
in  a  few  minutes,  but  then  were  obliged  to  get  out  and 
drag  her  through  several  gravelly  shallows  two  or  three 
hundred  feet  to  a  bridge,  and  thence  had  difficult  naviga- 
tion a  short  distance  further,  until  we  entered  the  pond 
at  Ashland. 

About  six  o'clock  we  came  to  the  dam  and  stopped  on 
the  right-hand  side  thereof,  at  the  head  of  the  sluice-way. 
Below  the  dam  is  a  series  of  extensive  buildings  which 
were  intended  to  be  used  as  print-works,  an  industry  that, 
on  account  of  the  injurious  effect  of  the  dyes  upon  the 
stream,  unfortunately  had  to  be  abandoned,  when  Boston 
took  the  Sudbury  River  as  a  source  of  its  water  supply. 


rilH  .SUDBURY,  (JONCOIW,  AND  MEIUilMAC.  21 

Only  a  poitit)!!  of  the  premises  is  now  occupied  as  a 
thread-mill.  Below  the  dam,  for  nearly  a  third  of  a  mile, 
the  bed  of  the  river  was  so  shallow  that  it  was  impossible 
to  float  the  l)()at,  so  we  endeavored  to  procure  a  convey- 
ance to  carry  the  boat  aroiuid  b}^  the  road. 

While  waiting  on  the  bank  a  number  of  Ashland  gamins 
crowded  aroinid  and  were  altogether  a  saucy  lot.  We 
could  obtain  no  conveyance  of  any  kind,  so,  as  it  was 
growing  dark,  and  we  wished  to  get  further  down  stream 
away  from  the  Asldand  gamins,  to  pitch  our  tent,  we 
carried  the  boat  through  the  mill-yard,  and  with  friendly 
assistance  after  a  while  put  lier  into  the  water  below  the 
hrst  road  bridge.  The  stream  was  still  very  shallow,  how- 
ever, so  we  alternately  carried  along  the  l)ank  or  dragged 
the  boat  through  shallows  to  a  place  about  lialf  a  mile 
below  the  dam.  Wlien  embarked  and  once  more  able  to 
row,  it  was  quite  dark.  Pulling  on,  we  several  times  got 
into  wrong  channels,  and  soon  fovmd  that  we  were  in  a 
labyrinth,  in  whicji  it  Avas  as  difficult  to  find  an  outlet  as 
it  is  to  trace  one's  way  through  the  puzzling  mazes  of 
Rosamond's  Bower.  In  the  course  of  a  half-hour,  how- 
ever, after  meeting  many  obstructicnis,  we  passed  under 
a  bridge  and  continued  on  along  past  several  houses, 
which  we  afterward  discovered  were  in  the  lower  part  of 
Ashland.  As  we  rowed  by  the  last  house  a  little  girl 
cried  out  in  the  darkness,  ''  Halloo  !  who  are  you  ?  "  We 
said,   "  Boating  on   the  river,"  and   Ijade  her  good-night. 


22  BOATIXd  TJiirs. 

She  res[)()U(lcd,  "  Good-iiij^lit,"'  and  added,  in  tender  treble, 
the  kindly  invocation, — 

"May  you  sleop  tight, 
Whore  the  Imgs  don't  bite!" 

Innnediately  below,  we  pulled  under  a  l»ridge,  Ijut  after 
rowing  on  about  lialt  a  nule  we  found  that  we  were  en- 
tangled in  a  niidtitude  of  winding  and  shallowing  bayous, 
with  long  marshy  grass  on  every  side  and  a  causeway  in 
front,  and  merely  a  glinnnering  landscape  around.  We 
were  indeed  completely  bafded,  and  as  it  was  eleven 
o'clock  we  put  back  to  the  bridge,  and  after  vainly  trying 
to  get  directions  for  our  course  we  concluded  to  stop  at 
one  of  the  houses.  The  young  man  who  acted  as  our 
cicerone  talked  the  true  middle-of-England  dialect,  as 
it  appears  in  Griffith  Gaunt  and  Nicholas  Nickleby.  His 
peculiar  i)ronunciation  of  ''  meestiu' "  was  very  pleasing, 
and  especially  })leasant  the  tones  of  his  voice  as  he  rapped 
up  Mr.  Pratt,  who,  in  most  hospitable  fashion,  as  we  liad 
been  assured  would  be  the  case,  took  us  in  and  rid  us  of 
the  chief  cliffictdty  of  our  sitiuition  until  the  morroAv. 

Upon  crossing  the  bridge  early  in  the  morning  to  em- 
bark again,  we  readily  discovered  the  cause  of  our 
erroneous  wandering  the  night  before.  The  course  of 
the  river  was  very  similar  to  the  shape  of  the  letter  V. 
As  we  proceeded  along  we  had  come  to  the  bridge  at  the 
apex  of  the  V,  as  it  were,  and  of  course,  naturally  enough, 


TlIK  SUDBURY,  t'OXCOUl).  AM>  Mil  I!  IN  MAC.  23 

ill  the  darkness,  immediately  rowed  iiiidei-  it.  Tlie  river, 
lioAvever,  instead  of  [lowing  under  the  bridge,  turns  sharply 
to  tilt!  northeast,  and  we  should  have  rtiwed  up  the  other 
side  of  the  A",  as  it  were. 

In  a  few  minutes  we  were  rowing  in  front  of  the  bridge, 
and  soon  left  it  in  the  rear.  In  about  a  third  of  a  mile  a 
low  dam  compelled  us  to  make  a  very  short  carry  on  the 
left  side,  and  we  then  entered  the  first  of  the  city  reservoirs. 
We  hauled  over  a  low  dam  at  the  end  of  the  first  pond  on 
the  left,  a  ve^y  easy  obstacle  to  pass,  and  after  a  jmll  over 
another  pond  with  the  Boston  and  Albany  Railroad  on  our 
right,  we  came  to  a  low  causeway,  over  which  we  hauled 
the  boat,  and  then  pulled  through  a  long  stretch  of  water 
to  a  very  high  dam,  guarded  on  the  right  by  a.  small  but 
very  artistic  gate-house,  wherein  are  the  gates  for  regu- 
lating the  supply  of  water,  and  several  hydrometers.  The 
row  in  the  deep  water  basin  under  the  hot  sun  had  been 
pretty  warm,  so  we  lingered  in  the  shade  of  the  gate-house 
on  the  dam  before  undertaking  the  fresh  task  of  getting 
the  boat  over.  It  was  hard  work  to  pull  the  boat  to  the 
top  of  the  embankment  on  the  right  of  the  dam  (which  is 
about  twenty-five  feet  high),  over  the  heavy  masonry,  at  an 
angle  of  about  forty-five  degrees.  The  descent,  hoAvever, 
on  the  lower  side,  was  comparatively  easy,  and  we  were 
soon  pulling  across  the  last  reservoir  to  dam  number  one. 
Bow  was  quite  surprised  tf)  ascertain  that  number  one 
was  the  last  dam,  there  having  been  much  talk  about  dam 


24  IlOATINd   TRIPS. 

number  one,  dam  number  two,  and  dam  number  three; 
lie  naturally  supposing;  that  number  one  was  tiie  first, 
instead  of  the  last,  of  the  series.  We  found  the  water  of 
the  last  pond  filled  with  innumerable  fine  particles  of  the 
vegetable  matter  which  has  been  the  occasion  of  so  much 
disturbance  to  the  citizens  of  Boston  and  their  water- 
board,  from  time  to  time,  for  the  past  several  years.  The 
phenomenon  appearing  in  only  one  pond,  and  there  de- 
veloped to  such  an  extent,  is  certainly  very  remarkable. 
Experts  have  declared,  however,  that  the  matter  does  not 
impair  the  purity  (jf  the  water,  though  we  did  not  care 
to  drink  it. 

Dam  number  one  we  found  almost  as  difficult  to  get  by 
as  dam  number  two.  We  carried  over  on  the  right  and 
lowered  the  boat  over  i^uite  a  high  stone  wall  Ijelow  the 
gate-house  into  the  river.  Only  one  hundred  and  forty 
thousand  gallons  of  water  are  let  through  the  dam  each 
day  to  supply  the  mill  at  Saxonville,  and  consequently  the 
river-bed  was  quite  shallow.  Stroke  ke})t  in  the  boat, 
and  after  poling  by  a  number  of  rocks  in  a  few  minutes 
reached  comparatively  clear  water.  The  going  continued 
to  improve,  and  ere  long  we  came  to  the  camp-meeting 
ground  at  South  Framingham.  Rowing  on  through  a  long, 
narrow  pond  we  came  to  a  short,  low  dam.  We  let  the 
boat  float  over  with  the  fall  of  water  under  a  house  at  the 
middle  of  the  dam,  and  below  had  to  get  out  at  brief 
intervals  and   pull  over  several  gravelly  shallows.      The 


TJIH  S  L IDF,  Ult  1',  CONCOJiJ),  AND  MEliltlMA  C.  25 

going  soon  became  good,  except  at  rare  intervals  where 
a  .shallow  compelled  us  to  push  along  or  get  out  of  the 
boat  and  haul  through.  The  water  was  clear,  however, 
and  the  banks  lined  with  trees,  and,  except  when  we  came 
to  an  arched  stone  bridge  and  saw  some  men  mowing,  our 
course  for  about  two  miles  was  along  a  narrow,  winding- 
stream,  exceedingly  pleasant.  We  passed  a  number  of 
piles  of  stones  heaped  up  in  the  form  of  round  bee-hives; 
and  on  one  a  water-snake  (I  think  he  must  have  l)een 
asleej)),  threatened  with  an  oar,  maintained  his  position 
until  thrust  off.  After  a  while  the  river  wound  in  more 
open  country  and  then  again  amid  a  hilly  country  with 
tliick  woods  on  every  side.  It  was  noon  and  the  sun  was 
shining  hot.  Not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring,  but  we 
kept  on,  wishing  to  get  below  Saxonville  at  as  early  an 
hour  as  we  could  and  go  into  camp. 

Emerging  from  the  woody  banks,  we  crossed  a  pond 
and  came  to  a  deserted  dam,  which  is  about  two  miles 
above  Saxonville.  The  dam  is  broken  on  the  right  side 
with  the  water  at  the  same  level  below  as  above,  and  we 
found  that  we  had  just  room  enough  to  pass  between  two 
iron  axles,  each  surmounted  by  a  huge  iron  cog-wheel, 
high  in  air,  that  formerly  composed  part  of  the  machinery 
of  a  grist  and  lumber  mill.  We  pulled  over  the  buoyed 
race-course  on  the  upper  part  of  the  Saxonville  pond, 
and  at  the  ice-house  a  huge  cake  of  ice  was  thrown  into 
the  pond  for  our  benefit,  where  it  looked  very  odd  floating 


26  itoATixd  Tjnrs. 

al)()iit  ill  midsummer.  We  scion  ciiiiu'  in  sight  of  the  mill 
and  lionses  at  Saxonville,  iind  about  two  o'clock  hauli'd 
ashore  on  tlie  left-hand  side  of  the  dam  and  had  onr  lioat 
transported  throiioh  the  town  by  the  A(hinis  Exi)ress,  and 
])iit  into  the  water  near  a  livery-stalde  by  the  railroad- 
station. 

Saxonville  is  a  very  fine  s])eeimen  of  the  New-Enoland 
niaiiiifacturing'  vilhioe.  It  is  grouped  in  very  pietures(]ne 
fashion  around  the  end  of  the  pond,  and  hxiks  extremely 
neat  and  thrifty.  There  is  a  boat-house  on  the  pond  and 
many  boats.  A  road  has  bcM'ii  cut  through  the  woods  on 
the  north  side  of  the  [lond.  Thio  improvement,  as  well  as 
man^'  others,  is  due  to  the  public  spirit  of  Mr.  Simpson, 
M'ho,  from  the  constant  rumor  of  his  name,  is  evidently 
the  presiding  genius  of  the  town. 

We  found  the  stream  l)eloM'  Saxonville  shallow  and 
filled  with  many  rocks.  The  water  was  clogged  with  all 
sorts  of  impurities  from  the  woolen-mill,  and  so  muddy 
that  we  could  ouly  guess  at  obstructioiis.  A  violent  gust 
of  wind,  })receding  an  impending  shtiwer,  which  luckily 
for  us,  however,  did  not  fall,  drove  us  down  stream  at  first 
at  a  rapid  rate.  For  about  a  mile  we  were  seldom  able  to 
row,  and  although  compelled  most  of  the  time  to  push 
along  with  the  oars,  and  often  meeting  apparently  impass- 
able obstructions,  very  fortunately  were  not  once  obliged, 
as  we  often  feared  we  should  be,  tt)  get  out  of  the  boat. 
The  stream  itself  was  disgusting,  though  lined   much  of 


THE  SUDBLllY.  fOXCOllI),  AXD  MEIililMAC. 


27 


the  way  on  the  right  by  a  very  pretty,  wt)()ded  bank,  'i'lie 
oars  in  poling  sank  tln-ough  thick,  yeHow  water  deep  into 
oozy  beds  of  yiekling,  slippery  slime,  and  the  odor  stirred 
lip  by  tlie  action  was  foul  and  iniasinatic.  Ind(>ed.  neither 
Styx  nor  Pldegethoii.  I  suspect,  is  lialf  so  bad. 

After  an    hour  or  more  of   progress    in    this  wretched 
fashion  the  water  grew  deeper,  while  the  banks  were  often 


'#n\vp^  ^^^^ 


5ron<'5Bri<'<'^g  '^ 


qnite  abrupt  and  well  wooded.  A  prostrate  tree  now  and 
then  threatened  to  entangle  us  in  its  branches.  We  won- 
dered liow  we  should  l)e  able  to  get  by  one,  until  we  found 
a  natural  arch  in  a  huge  branch  that  lay  ui)on  the  water, 
through  which,  when  the  way  seemed  most  beset  with 
perplexities,  wc  passed  in  triumpli.  The  river  ran  into 
nuiny  curving  recesses  where  the  water  looked  heavy  and 
somnolent,  and  we  were  glad  indeed,  after  a  while,  up(^)n 
passing    through   an  open  meadow,   to   arrive   at    Stone's 


28  r.oATixa  ruirs. 

Bridge.  The  bridge  is  only  a  mile  from  the  village,  but 
the  river  in  its  tortuous  course  makes  a  circuit  of  more 
than  three  miles  thither.  At  one  place  the  neck  between 
the  banks  is  only  a  few  rods  across,  and  if  one  could  only 
discover  the  spot  from  the  river  a  short  carry  would  save 
a  row  of  nearly  a  mile. 

A  low  hill  to  the  right  of  Stone's  Bridge  commands 
a  fine  prospect.  The  view  of  the  river  winding  along  to 
the  north  through  the  broad,  level  Wayland  meadows 
)s  especially  beautiful. 

The  river  below  the  bridge  is  comparatively  free  from 
impurity.  A  cluster  of  thick  grass  occasionally  blocked 
up  the  river  from  bank  to  bank,  and  hindered  the  free 
motion  of  the  boat,  without,  however,  materially  delaying 
our  progress.  On  the  left  are  several  hillsides,  covered 
with  trees,  with  carving  meadows  between.  We  spread 
our  tent  on  an  old  road  which  ran  ;ilong  the  side  of  one 
of  the  hills,  under  the  trees,  and  stretching  ourselves  out 
upon  the  ground,  we  watched  the  moving  leaves  shadowed 
in  silhouette  by  the  glow  of  tlie  dying  lire  against  the 
canvas,  and  amid  the  mournful  croaking  of  an  army  of 
frogs  in  the  river  below,  and  the  strange,  unearthly  sounds 
of  the  woods  around,  we  fell  into  slumber  deep  and 
unbroken  until  nine  o'clock  on  the  morrow. 

Soon  after  starting  Monday  morning,  we  came  to  a  place 
where  the  river  was  completely  blockaded  by  dense  masses 
of  grass  and  rushes  and  lily-pads.     Rowing  was  very  slow 


THE  SUDBURY.  COXCOIil),  AND  MEIUIIMAC.  29 

and  tedious  for  about  a  quarter  (ti"  a  uiile.  By  and  by, 
however,  the  channel  grew  clearer,  and  then  the  river, 
entirely  free  from  impurity,  began  to  wind  in  serpentine 
mazes  tlirough  level  meadows.  The  shores  were  lined 
with  grass  sedges  and  bordered  with  lilies,  white  and 
fragrant,  while  on  every  broad,  leafy  pad  sat  a  frog. 
Here  was,  I  think,  the  paradise  of  Batrachians.  They  sat 
in  silence  and  stared  at  us  with  solemn  gaze  as  we  floated 
by.  Even  a  thrust  of  the  oar  did  not  suffice  to  disturb 
the  judicial  serenity  of  some  old  croaker,  who  merely 
winked  as  the  oar  approached,  or  reluctantly  abandoned 
his  position  as  he  was  swept  off  at  the  end  of  a  stroke. 
But  the  pond-lilies  were  indeed  most  wondrous,  especially 
as  we  came  to  the  head  of  Long  Pond,  just  above  Way- 
land.  Upon  either  shore  the  spotless  wliite  array,  immac- 
ulate in  purity,  sti etched  along  as  far  as  one  could  see, 
and  the  air  was  filled  with  their  delicious  fragrance.  As 
we  neared  the  end  of  the  pond,  the  view  of  the  hills 
encircling  the  valley  at  a  distance  was  very  fine.  Beyond 
the  l)road  meadows  the  slopes  looked  extremely  rich  and 
luxuriant. 

We  halted  at  the  Wayland  bridge  for  a  short  time,  and 
then  rowed  past  a  bank  lined  with  enormous  cat-o'-nine- 
tails that  woidd  have  delighted  lovers  of  modern  art  in 
nature,  and  then  under  the  bridge  of  the  Massachusetts 
Central  Railroad  to  the  Sudbury- Way  land  bridge.  Be- 
low this  bridge   the   river  Avound  in   continuous   crooked 


t 


30  BOATJNi^   Tin  PS. 

folds  tliroiigli  :i  wide  expanse  of  niarslies.  Tlie  eliannel 
was  marked  on  eitlier  side  by  lines  of  grass,  and  below 
was  often  filled  with  waving  weeds.  Oceasionally  the 
stream  was  completely  clogged  with  grass,  so  that  it  was 
hard  work  to  pull  through,  and  at  intervals  the  stream 
flowed  through  a  small  pond-like  streteh  of  water.  .Vlto- 
gether  the  scene  was  quite  tropical,  the  luxuriant  vegeta- 
tion of  the  wide  marsh  contrasting  strangeh'  in  the  ({uiet 
noonday  with  the  varied  upland  scenery  on  every  side. 

As  we  drew  near  the  end  of  the  meadows,  Bow  espied 
at  the  beginning  of  a.  little  pond  into  Avhicli  the  river 
opened  a  huge  black  object,  which  \\e  almost  immediately 
discovered  to  be  the  head  of  a>  monstrous  water-snake. 
H^  quickly  saw  us  to(j,  and  as  we  ceased  row^ing  he  began 
to  move.  We  were  for  a  moment  in  grave  ap})rehension 
as  to  his  intentions,  and  were  greatly  relieved  to  see  him 
direct  his  course  toward  the  reeds  at  the  margin  of  the 
water.  He  turned  around  and  looked  at  us  during  liis 
slow  retreat,  renewing  our  apprehension  each  time,  ))ut 
continued  on,  one  immense  fold  following  another,  until 
lie  disappeared  in  the  marsli.  lie  must  have  been  seven 
or  eight  feet  long,  and  tapered  sharply  at  the  tail.  We 
heard  him  for  several  minutes,  splashing  through  tiie 
reeds,  and  saw  the  reeds,  disturbed  l)y  his  sinuous  wind- 
ing, moving  some  distance  away  from  the  chainiel  before 
we  ventured  to  proceed. 

We  soon  came  to  another  bridge,  and  alxjut  half  a  mile 


THE  SVDBlUtY,  <'(>.\(U)h'/),  AXD  MhliJilMAC. 


below  drew  to  shore  and  passed  the  afternoon  heneatli  the 
refreshing  shade  of  some  trees.  Then  hite  in  the  day  we 
rowed  on  by  some  very  pretty  wooded  hillsides,  and  in 
the  course  of  an  lioui'  oame  to  Sherman's  Brid^-e,  at  North 
Sud])ury.     Upon  the  left  of  the  river  the  country  slojjes 


■^-s. 


"^T  """■""  '"'''■ 


u]>  to  the  town  in  })road  and  fertile  tracts,  and  to  the 
left  of  the  bridge  and  just  beyond  rises  a  hill  gracefully 
])icturesque.  On  the  right,  the  sloping  banks  were  orna- 
mented with  clumps  of  trees,  while  the  bridge  itself 
ac(;eiited  a  river  scene  rich  in  l)eauty. 

About  half  a   mile  below  tlie  bridge  we  put  ashore  at 
a  jtoint  wliich   juts  into  the  river  on  the  right,  and  found 


32 


llOATIXa   Tin  PS. 


admirable  camping  ground  in  an  open  forest  alongside 
a  grassy  road  that  led  up  from  the  river.  While  eating 
supper  in  dusky  shadows  by  the  waning  fire,  drops  of  rain 
began  to  rattle  on  the  dry  leaves  around.  Retiring  to  the 
tent  we  soon  heard  the  roar  of  the  storm  above.  At 
fi'equent  intervals  the  tree-tops,  shaken  by  the  wind,  sent 
down  a  shower  of  large  drops  that  l)attered  musically  upttii 
the  canvas.  The  rain  jjoured  in  torrents  all  night  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  following  morning. 


CHAPTER   II. 

OONCOIM). 

/^~\UR  camping' })Iace  was  within  tlio  borders  of  Concord. 
^-^^  Walden  Pond  was  accessible,  and  not  far  distant ; 
bnt  we  did  not  care  to  undertake  a  tramp  there  in  tlie 
wet.  We  got  under  way  again  on  the  river  about  the 
mi(hlh'   of  the   afternoon.     A   few  strokes  carried  us    to 


Fair  Haven  Bay,  where  hills  rise  on  every  side,  shutting 
in  the  })rospect  witli  walls  of  living  green.  The  river  is 
here,  indeed,  wild  and  picturesque,  and  was  a  favorite 
resort  of  Thoreau.  After  a  long,  hard  pull  against  a 
strong  head  wind,  we  came  to  the  old  South  Bridge  at 
Concord.  The  river,  here  and  behjw,  was  sluggish,  and 
as  we  continued  on  we  caught  a  glimpse,  in  tlie  (juiet 
evening,  of  tliat  tranciiullity  for  which   tlie   town  itself  is 


34  r>()ATiya  rnirs. 

noted,  which  it  uii(h)iil)tedly  derives  Iroiii  the  river. 
The  water  was  like  ghiss  ;  tlie  i'rei^■hted  ch)iids  huii<>-  in 
solemn  masses  in  the  west,  and  the  snidight  ponied 
in  golden  floods  over  earth  and  sky.  Pidling  nnder  the 
stone  bridge,  Ave  eame  to  the  Grand  Canal  of  Concord, 
and  met  several  rowboats  flying  along  the  watery  wa}',  and 
among  others  a  dark-blue  ^-awl  with  a  crew  of  two  young 
ladies,  who  pulled  a  gentlemanly  coxswain  with  a  graceful 
yet  effective  stroke,  that  was,  I  suspect,  the  i)roduct  of 
tnucli   patient  coaching. 

The  A'illage  is  situated  on  the  east  side  of  the  river. 
The  shore  at  the  rear  of  the  gardens  of  the  houses  on  the 
bank  was  lined  Avith  every  kind  of  rowing  craft.  The 
river  is  indeed  the  greatest  part  of  Concord.  Just  below 
the  bridge  of  the  Lowell  Railroad,  the  Assabet  joins  the 
Sudbur}^,  the  two  streams  forming  the  Concord  River. 
At  the  junction  is  a  little  promontory,  called  Egg  Rock, 
Avhere  we  landed,  as  the  shadows  of  evening  began  to 
gather.  We  pitched  the  tent  near  the  top  of  the  eleva- 
tion, and  after  a  hastily  improvised  supper  stretched 
ourselves  out  u})on  the  hard  ground  for  slumber.  A  mul- 
titude of  frogs  in  the  Assabet,  however,  made  night  hoarse 
with  their  croaking ;  and  we  were  aroused  soon  after 
daAvn  by  the  clamorous  cawing  of  a  flock  of  crows,  and 
began  the  day  at  an  early  hour,  little  refreshed. 

Egg  Rock  is  covered  with  turf  and  mould,  except  here 
and  there  where  the  rock  protrudes,  or  a  ledge  crops  out, 


THE  SUDBUliY,  COXCOliD.  AND  MEHIUMAC.  o5 

and  an  open  growth  of  trees.  It  is  a  favorite  resort  for 
picnics,  and  hardly  a  day  goes  by  in  sunnuer  withont  one 
or  more  parties  making  it  a  scene  of  briglit  festivity.  We 
were,  hoAvever,  entirely  undisturbed  during  our  sta}-, 
except  by  the  report  of  a  gun  and  the  rattle  of  a  scat- 
terino^  charp'e  of  shot  amono'  the  trees  somewhat  near  our 
heads,  a  circumstance  that  was  immediately  followed  by 
a  brief,  but  somewhat  animated,  conversation  between  us 
and  the  sportsman  :  and,  upon  another  occasion,  when, 
on  our  return  from  the  village,  we  found  a  very  pretty 
little  girl  in  tlie  hammock,  which,  however,  was  not  very 
much  of  a  disturbance ;  at  least,  to  us.  Frequently,  how- 
ever, during  the  day  we  heard  tlie  sound  of  dipping  oars, 
and  caught  sight  of  a  l)oat  gliding  Tip  the  Assabet  or 
returning  to  the  village. 

Egg  Rock  is  indeed  an  idyllic  spot.  The  view  is  a 
charming  pastoral.  The  Concord,  formed  l)y  the  union 
of  the  Sudbury  and  Assabet,  flows  away  from  the  end  of 
the  rock  with  rippling  current  until  it  shortly  disappears 
beneath  a  bridge  in  a  causeway.  Here  and  there  is 
a  house,  and,  among  others,  the  Barrett  Mansion,  which 
occupies  the  site  of  the  house  the  ancestors  of  the  present 
family  lived  in  at  the  time  of  the  Concord  Fight.  Tlie 
Minute-man  and  monument  are  a  little  distance  farther 
down,  and  beyond  is  fold  u})on  fold  of  green  hills  and 
woods.  Upon  one  side,  beyond  the  embankment  of  the 
Lowell  Railroad,  is  a  l)lended  mass  of  foliage  and  houses, 


36  noATiNi}  Titirs. 

wliicli  comprise  Ji  portion  of  the  village,  aiul  on  the  other 
the  wild  and  lovely  Assabet. 

Hawthorne  says :  "  A  more  lovely  stream  than  the  Assa- 
bet for  a  mile  above  its  junction  with  the  Concord  has 
never  flowed  on  earth — nowhere,  indeed,  except  to  lave 
the  interior  regions  of  a  poet's  imagination.  ...  It  comes 
flowing  softly  through  the  midmost  privacy  and  deepest 
heart  of  a  wood  which  whispers  it  to  be  '({uiet ;  while  the 
stream  whispers  back  again  from  its  sedgy  borders,  as  if 
river  and  wood  were  hushing  one  another  to  sleep.  Yes; 
the  river  sleeps  along  its  course  and  dreams  of  the  sky 
and  the  clustering  foliage.'' 

On  Wednesday  afternoon  we  rowed  u[)  the  Assabet. 
We  saw  innumerable  frogs  and  a-  congregation  of  seven 
turtles  on  a  board,  the  very  same  party,  I  have  no  doubt, 
that  Mrs.  Goddard,  in  a  sketch  of  Concord,  says  she  saw 
while  rowing  up  the  Assabet.  With  heads  craned  high 
and  motionless  in  air,  like  so  many  [)ious  Moslems,  they 
awaited  our  approach,  and  when  we  were  quite  near  they 
tumbled  into  the  water  one  after  another,  and  rapidl}^ 
kicking  hind-legs  could  1)e  seen  vigorously  propelling  each 
clumsy  creature  to  the  de})ths  below. 

On  the  evening  of  every  Fourth  of  July  a-  carnival  oi 
boats  is  held  on  the  rivers.  One  wing  of  the  fleet  forms 
beneath  the  leafy  arches  of  the  Assabet,  where  the  great 
hemlocks  reach  over  to  see  their  reflections  in  the  black 
water,  and  the  other  on  the  open  Sudbury,  and  at  a  given 


THE  suDiinn\  COXroiiD.  AXI>  MKinUMAC. 


37 


signal  the  ])rf)cessi()ii,  gay  with  illuminations,  moves  down 
the  Concord  amid  a  glare  of  fireworks  under  the  old  North 
Bridge  brilliantly  adorned  with  lanterns. 

After  wandering    away  from   the    haunts   of    men    on 


\/ 


„ ,,„JP 


lonely  rivers  in  the  midst  of  nature,  where  all  is  appar- 
ently plain  and  simple,  we  determined  to  visit  the  School 
of  Philosophy  and  listen  to  the  perplexing  problems  man 
proposes  and  discusses.  The  cosy  little  building  in  which 
the  school  holds  its  sessions  is   new,  with   interior   unfin- 


38  iioATiNd  TJijrs. 

ished  and  I'ougli,  and  of  itst-lt"  wonld  snrcly  not  awaken 
any  sns[(icion  of  distraction,  nor,  indeed,  did  ihe  enter- 
taining lecture  Ave  lieaid  Mrs.  Cheney  deliver  aWout  early 
American  art.  It  is,  somehow,  the  fasliion  to  deride  the 
School  of  Philosophy.  Is  not  learning',  however,  rather 
to  be  congratulated  u[)()n  the  estaldishnient  of  a  school, 
disjointed  it  may  be,  and  somewliat  fragmentary,  where 
the  mystical  problems  (jf  the  mind  ean  be  discussed  ? 
The  problems  exist,  and  though  of  no  immediate  [)ractical 
inportance,  and  perhaps  forever  insoluble,  yet  they 
cannot  be  dismissed  out  of  sight.  The  (piestion  of  lire- 
existence  and  the  primal  principles  of  ])hilosophy  and 
what-not  else  can  surely  find  no  more  litting  place  for 
consideration  than  the  Hillside  Chapel;  where,  in  an 
atmosphere  of  drowsy  nature,  amiable  culture,  mature  in 
experience,  calmly  discusses  with  frank  courtes}^  the 
Unthinkable  and  the  Unknown,  —  the  self-same  problems 
that  Macaulay  declares  were  discussed  and  left  unsolved 
by  Ionian  philosophers  three  thousand  years  ago.  May 
the  Concord  School  have  better  luck  ! 

The  conversation  that  follows  each  lecture  is,  however, 
the  real  charm  of  the  school,  and  has  given  the  philosophic 
enterprise  its  chief  reputation. 

The  view  from  Lee's  Hill,  an  inconsiderable  elevation 
that  rises  behind  Egg  Rock,  is  quite  extensive,  varied, 
and  beautifid.  Toward  the  northwest  appears  the  mag- 
nificent extent  of  the  State  Prison,  like  a  huge  palace  — 


THE  Sl'DlilUY,  COXCOllD.  AND  MERIUMAC. 


39 


a  palace  of  misery.  The  town  is  below  on  the  right, 
henimeil  by  the  sliiniuL;  river,  which  can  be  seen  for  some 
miles  sweeping  toward  the  northeast  through  rich  green 
hills. 


There  are  many  points  of  interest  in  and  about  Con- 
cord. The  tavern  wherein  ]\Iajor  Pitcairn  stirred  his 
famous  glass  of  toddy  with  a  bloody  hnger,  exclaiming, 
"'- 1  will  stir  the  Yankee  blood  in  tlie  same  way  before  night," 
is  still  standing,  in  nearly  the  same  C(^ndition  as  when  the 
Major  uttered  his  ])loody  threat ;   and  along  the  road  to 


40  jiOAT/ya  rinrs. 

Lexington,  and  in  and  art>uii<l  tlie  village,  arc  man}'' 
houses  which  Avere  standing'  jit  tlic  time  of  the  British 
"•occupation/'  Then,  in  addition  to  the  Okl  Manse,  there 
is  the  Wayside,  wlierc  Hawthorne  resided  at  the  time  of 
his  (h^ath.  the  residence  of  the  Hon.  E.  R.  Hoar,  and  the 
homes  of  Emerson,  Alcott,  and  Sanl)orn.  For  a  more 
particular  description  of  these,  liowever,  and  the  lihrarv, 
which  is  quite  hxrge  and  vahuible,  and  the  cemeteries  and 
other  phices  and  matters  of  interest,  I  wouhl  refer  any 
one  desirous  of  further  informatit)n  to  Bartlett's  Concord 
Guide-book,  which  is  a  very  interesting,  as  well  as  useful, 
contribution  to  the  literature  of  the  town.  Tlie  view  of 
the  Old  Manse  given  herein  is  from  the  rear,  or  river, 
side. 


CHAPTER    III. 

CONCOi;i).  —  NEWin^RYPORT. 

"TTT^E  broke  cam}!  on  Egg  Kock  Tliursday  morning, 
and  abont  ten  o'clock  renewed  onr  voyage. 
After  i)assing  the  stone  In'idge  Avhicli  spans  the  Concord 
just  below  tlie  junction  of  the  rivers,  we  were  caught  in 
a  sliower  that  had  l)eeu  iin[)ending,  and  on  account  of 
which  we  liad  delayed  our  departure.  A  l)rief  pull,  how- 
ever, brought  ns  to  the  old  North  Bridge,  where  we  made 
fast,  and  for  several  hours  found  shelter  upon  the  historic 
structure.  The  Ijridge  itself  is  so  old-fashioned,  yet 
artistic,  and  the  approach  on  the  Concord  side  through 
the  avenue  of  hendocks  so  beautiful,  that  the  s])ot  would 
be  attractive,  even  a])art  from  the  monuments  and  his- 
torical associations  that  cluster  about  it.  The  Minute-man 
on  the  left  baidv,  the  monument  on  the  right,  and  the 
quaint  bridge,  contrast  strangely  ^^■ith  tlie  rural  scenes 
around:  \\'hile  the  Old  Manse  near  by,  on  one  side,  and 
elegant  houses  on  tlie  other,  complete  the  bewilderment, 
I  might  almost  say  enchantment,  of  the  place.  There  is, 
too,  a  touch  of  pathos  in  the  inscription,  "Graves  of 
liritish  Soldiers,"  on  a  granite  ledge  set  in  the  stone  wall 
between  the  hemlocks  near  the  bridge.  Two  rude  stones, 
peering  just  above  the  ground  within  a  scant   enclosure, 


42 


noAT/xa  Tiiips. 


which  mark  {\\v\v  rcstin^-phu-c,  trll  a  dumb  story  oi"  pain 
and  woe  long  past.  How  easy  to  call  up  tlu;  scene  of 
conflict!  On  the  south  bank  the  company  of  red-coated 
sokliers  idling  on  guard;  upon  the  other  tlie  Provincials 
coming  down  the  road,  and  then  botli  sides  forming  for 
what  might  l)e  a  collision,  the  British  stolid  and  disjjosed 
to    sneer    at    their    foenien,  the    Americans    anxious,  and 


^^'/^^^.^a.,. 


:^1  -"-—W^--^^'- 


,?e 


eager,  and  nervous,  it  may  be,  still  bravely  approaching 
the  crisis.  Then  came  a  stray  bullet  from  the  Britons, 
followed  by  a  volley  tliat  killed  Davis  and  Hosmer,  and 
then  the  fire  of  the  Americans,  after  which  an  indiscrim- 
inate loading  and  firing  until  the  British  retired  to  tlie 
town,  leaving  the  two  dead,  who  were  buried  Avhere  they 
fell. 

It  was  one  o'clock  when  we  ventured  to  embark  again, 
between  the  stray  drops  of  rain.     In   a  few  minutes  we 


THE  SUDUmtY,  CONCORD.  AND  ME  R  BUI  AC.  43 

passed  inidcr  tlie  third  and  last  stone  bridge  at  CoiiC(»rd. 
and  soon  lost  sight  of  the  Minute-man,  and  in  a  brief 
wliile  were  again  on  an  aboriginal  river.  Either  the  old 
triiism  about  the  inappreciable  descent  of  the  Concord 
River  is  untrue,  or  the  rains  had  unduly  swollen  the 
volume  of  water;  for  the  current  was,  for  the  most  part, 
quite  rapid,  and  with  the  help  of  tlie  oars  we  swiftly 
passed  along  close  to  one  bank  or  the  other,  around  many 
a  })retty  winding  turn.  I  am  inclined  t(^  think,  however, 
that  the  current  story  about  a  bridge  that  was  blown  from 
its  abutments  and  Uoated  up  river,  in  reality  belongs  to 
the  Sudbury,  wliich  is,  in  truth,  the  slowest  and  laziest 
river  under  4;he  sun,  and  near  Concord  is  often  called  the 
Concord. 

After  a  row  of  nearly  three  hours,  wJiich  included 
a  long  halt  under  some  trees  to  escape  a  shower,  as  we 
were  pidling  along  a  wide  marsh  around  a  sharp  bend 
just  within  the  border-line  of  the  town  of  Bedford,  we 
espied,  at  the  head  of  a  long  reach  on  the  left  bank,  at  the 
edge  of  a  })iece  of  woods  at  the  foot  <jf  a  hill,  a  deserted 
shanty.  The  rain  —  Jupiter  Phnius  appeared  to  be  in 
ascendency  all  the  week  —  was  pouring  down  (piite  hard, 
so  we  made  fast  by  the  shanty,  and  sought  shelter  in  it. 
After  a  while,  the  rain  ceased,  and  we  rowed  up  river  half 
a  mile  or  more,  and  after  much  difticulty  in  etfecting  a 
landing  on  the  marshy  shore,  renewed  our  supply  of  pro- 
visions at  a  farm-hoiise,  and  returned,  besides,  with  a  boat- 


44  BOATINif   Til  IPS. 

load  of  dry  hay,  wliicli  contained  a  <^reat  deal  oi"  sweet- 
fern,  and  made  an  ar;)niati('  couch,  full  of  shinibor.  Bow 
here  proved  an  accomplished  cook  by  making-  an  excellent 
custard,  in  a  very  few  minutes.  He  gave  solemn  assurance 
tliat  the  result  was  not  an  accident.  We  found  the  name 
l)ull  cut  in  one  of  the  l)oards  of  the  shanty,  and  we  after- 
Avards  ascertained  that  a  nuui  named  Bull,  from  (-oiujord, 
had  lived  in  the  shanty  an  entire  winter,  after  the  manner 
of  Thoreau  at  Walden  Pond.  Whatever  the  comfort  of 
a  structure  entirely  of  boards,  about  ten  by  eight,  and 
just  high  enough  to  stand  in,  with  one  small  window,  and 
a  door,  and  a  hole  for  a  stovepipe,  and  a  sand  lloor,  in 
winter,  we  found  it  very  comfortable  during  our  stay,  save 
when  a  sudden  shower  in  the  morning  let  in  an  unneeded 
quantity  of  water  through  the  leaky  roof.  Whether  Mr. 
Bull  succeeded  in  reducing  his  expenses  to  eight  dollars 
and  seventy-six  cents  for  a  year,  a  feat  achieved  by 
Thoreau  at  Walden  Pond,  I  know  not ;  but  our  thanks,  at 
least,  are  certamly  due  him  for  the  use  of  his  building. 

We  pulled  down  river  Friday  afternoon.  The  reach 
below  the  shanty  is  one  of  the  longest,  if  not  the  longest, 
on  the  river.  Rough  woods  lined  the  shore  on  the  left 
side  beyond  marshy  meadows,  while  at  intervals  farm- 
houses and  cultivated  fields  appeared  on  the  right.  After 
a  while  the  houses  and  spires  of  Billerica  loomed  up  on  the 
right  bank.  Rowing  by  the  abutments  of  a  lost  bridge, 
we  made  fast  just  above  the  middle  bridge,  the  road  from 


THE  SUDBURY,  COXCOJiJJ.  AND  MEIUIIMAC.  45 

which  leads  direct  to  the  vilhige.  Billerica  is  a  very  hand- 
some specimen  of  the  more  modern  New-Enghmd  vilhige. 
'V\\v  view  down  the  valley  toward  Lowell  from  the  head 
of  the  street  that  leads  to  the  river  is  exceedingly  fine. 

After  rambling  throngii  the  village,  we  retnrned  to  the 
river  and  pitched  our  tent  nnder  a  hnge  oak  at  the 
edge  of  a  grove  just  above  the  bridge,  hnrrying  the  work 
to  escape  a  shower  impending  from  the  north.  The  stars 
were  shining  brightly  all  over  the  sky,  excei)t  where  a 
castled  clond  i)rojected  itself  slowly  upward,  shot  through 
with  constant,  vivid  Hashes  of  lightning  and  acc<jmpanied 
by  a  loud  rumbling  of  thunder.  For  an  hour  or  more  the 
shadow  of  the  cloud  hung  above  us,  and  then  edged  away 
to  the  north,  a  rainless  portent. 

The  next  morning  we  were  early  on  our  way.  On  the 
left  and  lower  side  of  a  bridge  we  pulled  under,  in  the 
course  of  the  morning  row, —  I  think  it  was  here,  although 
it  may  have  been  below  the  Carlisle-Bedford  bridge, — is 
an  old  weather-stained  house,  witli  barn  and  outbuildino-s 

o 

to  match,  which  rivals  in  (|uaint,  antique  grace  the  Old 
Manse  at  Concord. 

Above  and  below  the  bridge  were  innumerable  lilies, 
which  bloomed  almost  continually  along  the  river,  onlv 
in  some  })laces  in  almost  tropical  profusion.  As  we  were 
pulling  along  at  the  edge  of  the  lily-pads,  Stroke  plucked 
a  handsome  bud,  which  in  a  moment  broke  into  full  Idoom 
in  his  hand.      The  current  behnv  the  bridge  runs  quite 


46 


BOATIM!  rini's. 


swifth^  at  times  over  several  slight  descents.  By  and  1)}^ 
we  passed  a  number  of  rocks  strewn  about  the  channel, 
and  entered  the  pond  above  the  dam  at  North  Billerica, 


"^"^'^mt^ 


The  oarsman  off  duty  while  trolling  across  the  pond 
succeeded  in  catching  a  rock  that  weighed  several  tons, 
and  two  small  pickerel.  The  dam  of  the  Talbot  Mills  is 
easily  passed  by  keeping  in  the  sluice-way  on  the  right  to 


THE  Sl'DinUY,  COXCOL'D,  AXD  MKJ^h'IMAC.  47 

the  road.  Then,  after  a  sliort  cany  across  the  road  into 
the  mill-yard,  you  can  let  your  boat  over  a  stone  embank- 
ment into  the  river. 

We  haided  to  shore  on  a  perfect  sand  beach  on  the  right, 
about  two  miles  below  North  IJillerica,  and  in  the  woods 
beyond  found  a  lively  brook  of  rennirkabiy  cold  water. 
At  three  we  started  for  Lowell  and  at  the  edge  of  the  city, 
after  passing  under  three  or  four  bridges,  found  our  way 
obstructed  by  a  dam.  The  river-bed  below  the  dam  was 
completely  dry.  A  canal  leads  off  to  the  left.  Following 
the  canal  at  first  and  then  turning  to  the  end  of  the  dam, 
we  made  a  portage  over  the  embankment  and  put  the 
boat  into  the  canal  below  the  gate.  We  then  had  good 
sailing  for  about  a  third  of  a  mile,  although  we  were 
occasionally  obliged  to  lie  down  in  the  boat  to  escape 
hitting  some  of  the  bridges  which  crossed  the  canal.  We 
took  the  boat  out  at  the  end  of"  the  canal  and  made 
a  portage  of  about  three  hundred  feet  through  the  yard  of 
a  mill  on  the  right,  and,  launching  the  boat  down  a  steep 
bank,  we  were  soon  pulling  across  another  pond,  and 
(quickly  came  to  another  dam.  The  second  dam  can  quite 
easily  be  [)assed  to  the  right,  though  we  found  no  difh- 
culty,  on  account  of  the  low  water,  in  getting  over  the 
middle  of  it,  and  we  were  soon  pulling  over  another  })ond, 
to  our  great  discouragement.  We  were  now  in  the  city 
and  houses  lined  the  hills  on  both  sides  of  the  })ond.  At 
the  end  of  the  pond  on  the  left  was  a  huge  brick  mill,  and 


48  BOATINd   Til  IPS. 

over  u  liiij;Ii  dam  we  could  sec  the  water  curling  and  hear 
it  plunging  helow.  A  carry  is  feasible  around  a  low 
building  to  the  right  of  the  dam.  A\''e  approached  the 
diun  itself,  however,  at  a  corner  of  the  building,  and  found 
just  space  enough,  where  the  water  was  only  trickling 
over  the  flash-boards,  to  })ull  the  ])oat  \\\)  and  slide  her 
over  tlie  dam,  and  amid  the  thundering  roar  of  i\\v  water, 
which  loudly  resounds  when  one  is  near  below  it,  we 
launched  her  ])elow  the  fall.  Then,  after  a  few  strokes, 
we  entered  a  sort  of  canal,  and  shooting  across  a  deep 
revolving  whirl[)ool,  formed  by  the  inrushing  waste  water 
from  the  Merrimac  canal,  we  were  borne  on  the  surging 
current  under  Merrimac-street  l)ri(lge  into  the  Merrimac. 

We  had  been  two  hours  in  getting  by  the  three  dams. 
No  good  landing-place  appeared  near,  however,  so  Stroke 
turned  the  boat  about  and  put  her,  stern  foremost,  through 
Hunt's  Falls,  on  the  Lowell  side.  The  waves  lea})ed 
menacingly  above  the  stern,  and  the  si)ray  tlew  around  in 
little  showers  for  a  moment  or  two;  but  the  swift  motion 
was  a  very  agreeal)le  sensation  after  the  slow  work  over 
dams  and  ponds.  The  row  of  brick  mills  which  extends 
alons"  the  south  shore  of  the  Merrimac  until  the  view  is 
intercepted  by  a  bend,  presents  a  massive  and  iraposing 
frontage  on  tlie  river.  We  drew  to  shore  at  the  foot  of 
the  rapid,  and  spent  the  night  in  the  City  of  Spindles. 

On  the  morrow  we  found  that  the  channel  over  which 
we  had  swiftly  floated  the   night    before  was   comjilctcly 


THE  SUDBURY,  CONCORD,  AM)  MERRUIAC.  49 

dry.  The  river  had,  iiuhn^d,  on  account  of  the  shutting 
off  of  the  water,  ahiiost  entirely  disappeared.  We  passed 
through  a  very  narrow  channel  at  first,  and  then  kee})ing 
to  the  left  of  an  island  just  below,  dropped  down  the 
river  a  few  miles,  and  in  the  evening  encani})ed  on  the 
left  bank,  about  a  nnle  above   Lawrence. 

Lawrence  is  nine  miles  below  Lowell,  and  the  river  the 
entire  distance  is  wide,  and  the  l)anks  woody  and  pictur- 
esque. A  large  island  lies  nearer  the  left  shore,  about  half 
way  between  the  two  places,  and  immediately  below,  on 
the  left,  are  some  handsome  stretches  of  open  country, 
marked  here  and  there  by  farm-houses  and,  farther  down, 
finely  wooded  hills.  Tlie  river,  (\\x\ie  deep,  Avith  little 
current,  is  a  favorite  cruising  ground  for  many  small 
yachts,  wliicli  add  life  to  the  water.  The  Merrimac  is 
indeed  a  famous  river  for  boating.  As  we  sat  under  our 
tent,  in  the  mooidit  evening,  we  saw  many  boats  go  by, 
and  the  music  of  sacred  songs  was  wafted  across  the 
water  from  far  and   near. 

At  daybreak  on  Monday  morning  we  elimbed  to  the 
top  of  the  hill  which  rose  from  the  river  where  we 
were  encam[)ed,  and  had  a  magnificent  view  of  the  sun- 
rise, lielow  was  Lawrence,  still  and  sleeping,  —  1  had 
almost  said  lazy,  —  to  the  south  were  Andovtn*  and  West 
Audover  on  a  ridge  of  hills,  while  the  course  of  the  river 
could  be  traced  westward  by  the  mists  which  rolled  above 
it.     It   is   a  tine    location  for   a    farm,  and    the    milk   we 


50  BOATiNd  Tinrs. 

obtidnecl  at  the  house  wliich  crowns  the  siininiit  of  the 
hill  was  quite  as  good  as  the  view.  After  a  breakfast  of 
the  teiiclerest  of  sirloin,  and  the  sweetest  roasted  potatoes, 
and  the  most  delicious  coffee,  —  I  speak  wholly  with 
reference  to  the  taste,  and  not  at  all  to  the  actual  (jiiality 
of  the  articles,  —  we  rowed  along  shore  and  soon  came  to 
the  head  of  the  broad  canal  on  the  left  of  the  river,  M'hich 
supplies  the  motive  power  to  the  mills  of  Lawrence. 

The  water  glides  swiftly  into  the  canal,  and  rushes 
furiously  under  the  bridge.  Boats  have  been  swept  under, 
and  care  must  l)e  exercised  in  approaching  it.  The  lock- 
man  opened  the  gate  at  one  side  of  the  bridge  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  we  pulled  into  the  canal  below,  where  the 
water  pours  along  full  of  little  whirlpools,  but  entirely 
safe.  The  current  is  very  swift  at  first,  and  carried  us 
along  very  rapidly  past  the  mills  on  one  side,  where  the 
machinery  made  incessant  roar,  and  the  long  lines  of  brick 
houses  on  the  other.  We  had  to  lie  down  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat  to  pass  some  (if  the  bridges.  After  a  very 
novel  and  agreeable  voyage  of  about  half  a  mile,  perhaps, 
we  came  to  the  end  of  the  canal,  where  we  were  let  dovrn 
thirty-two  feet  through  three  locks,  in  about  twenty 
minutes,  into  the  river  below.  The  sensation,  as  you  sit 
in  the  boat  in  a  lock  and  feel  the  water  sinking  beneath 
you,  induces  a  slight  sense  of  horror,  to  say  the  least. 
There  is  no  charge  for  locking. 

The    current    is  very    swift   below    Lawrence,  but    the 


THE  suDnrnr.  coxcohd.  a\i>  mfjuhmac 


51 


l)aiiks  are  liot  nearly  so  pretty  as  ahovc.  About  four 
miles  below  Lawrence  is  an  island,  and  immediately  below 
the  island  is  a  short  stretch  of  rapids.  The  best  channel, 
marked  by  buoys,  is  used  by  small  steamers;  but  I  should 
think  they  would  have  a  hard  time  in  getting  through. 


w 


:4^ 


We  turned  the  boat  about  and  went  through  stern 
foremost,  enjoying  tliat  most  delightful  of  sensations,  the 
motion  of  rushing  water.  The  river  makes  a  sharp  bend 
below  the  fall,  and  along  the  lower  side  of  the  bend  is 
another  rapid.  The  swift  water  carried  us  along  near  the 
shore  past  the  steamer  Kittie  Boynton,  moored  alongside 
the  bank.  Below  the  rapid,  the  current  continues  quite 
strong  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  between  lines  of  buoys, 
nearly  to  the  end  of  the  reach,  where,  after  rounding 
a  bend,  we  saw  the  city  of  Haverhill.  We  }>ulled  up  at 
a  wharf  under  the  passenger  bridge  at  eleven  o'clock, 
havino-  made  the  nine  miles  from  Lawrence  in  two  hours 


52  noATJxa  rnips. 

and  a  halt'.  Here,  to  our  siii})iis(',  we  were  informed  tliat 
the  tide  was  just  beginning  to  go  out ;  so,  after  only  a  few 
minutes'  delay,  we  went  along  with  it. 

I'uUing  l)y  Groveland,  about  two  miles  behjw  Haverhill, 
we  kept  on  for  about  a  mile,  vvlien  we  })ulled  up  on  the 
beaeli  and  had  the  last  of  the  dinners  of  the  trip,  whic-li 
somehow,  in  spite  of  the  crude  cookery,  were  always 
literally  devoured  with  a  relish.  Then  keei)ing  on  down 
river,  with  wind  and  tide  and  current  in  our  favor,  we 
soon  came  in  sight  of  West  Newbury,  and  for  a  time 
wondered  what  was  the  course  of  the  river,  as  the  hills 
seemed  to  enclose  it  on  every  side.  The  river  turned 
northward,  however,  and  soon  we  were  pulling  through 
an  interminable  reach,  where  a  strong  head  wind  made 
very  toilsome  the  incessant  efforts  of  the  weary  oarsmen, 
and  was,  I  fear,  the  occasion  of  s(jme  pious  ejaculations. 
Then  Merrimacport  appeared  on  the  right  bank.  Several 
unpainted,  weather-stained,  old-fashioned  houses  give  the 
village  a  (i[uaint  and  pleasing  aspect. 

After  })ulling  through  two  or  three  t[uite  long  reaches, 
Amesbury  appeared  before  us,  and  rounding  a  long  ca[>e 
of  sand  heaps  that  jjrojected  from  the  right  bank  just 
below  Laurel  Hill,  formerly  tlie  summer  residence  of  the 
English  Minister  Thornton,  a  slight  elevation,  which, 
nevertheless,  commands  one  of  the  loveliest  view^s  in  New 
England,  we  met  the  incoming  tide  and  another  head 
wind.     Pulling  diagonally  down  river  past  the  rocky  north 


THE  SUDBUnW  COXCOJU).  AM)  MIJUIUMAC.  53 

shore,  by  a  very  handsome  ediiicc  of  brick  ;iii(l  stone,  we 
directed  our  course  toward  the  channel  on  tlie  h)wer  si(h', 
of  an  ishmd,  on  Avhicli  is  the  Spofford  residence.  Rowing 
nnder  the  okl  chain  l»ridge,  which  in  part  connects  Salis- 
bury with  Newburyport,  and  forms  a  (piaint  contrast  with 
the  moi'e  modern  structure  over  the  channel  on  the  north 
side  of  the  island,  Ave  crept  along  close  to  shore,  and 
were.  T  believe,  an  hour  and  a  half  in  going  a  mile  and 
a  half  to  Shaw's  Wharf,  w'here  our  voyage  ended. 

We  had  been  eleven  days  on  the  three  rivers,  and  had 
made  a  distance  of  abont  one  hundred  miles  in  ah. 

The  Sudbnry,  from  Southville  to  Saxonville,  cannot  be 
navigated  without  a  great  deal  of  toil  and  trouble,  and  the 
Merrimac  is  too  wide  to  furnish  the  peculiar  pleasure 
which  comes  from  followinq;  the  continuous  windino-s  of 
a  small  stream;  but  the  Sudbury,  from  Stone's  Bridge  at 
Saxonville  to  Concord,  and  the  Concord  thence  to  North 
Billerica,  a  distance  of  nearly  fifty  miles  in  all,  is  free 
from  any  difficulty ;  and  each  stream,  narrow,  deep,  and, 
generally,  sluggish,  is  a  delightful  river  to  descend.  I 
commend  the  nameless  graces  of  each  to  all  Avho  love 
to  follow  the  Unknown  River. 

I  may  add  that  Saxonville  is  the  terminus  of  a  branch 
ot  the  Boston  and  Albany  Railroad,  and  the  station  of 
the  Lowell  Railroad  at  North  Billerica  is  only  a  few 
minutes'  walk  from  the  mills. 


54 


liOATiya  Tit  IPS. 


rUACTICAL    SUGGESTIONS. 

1  ought  jjcrluips  to  .say,  i)y  way  of  aclvi(;e  to  auy  one 
who  has  a  desire  to  take  a  boating  trip,  that  ahiiost  any  boat 

is  siiitabh'  J'or  tlu^  purpose,  provided  it  is  liglit  and  portable. 

Ill  tlie  absence  of  any  clioice,  lioAvcver,  I  woidd  recom- 
mend, especially  for  two  persons,  an  eleven-*  foot "  skiff,  and 
spruce  oars  seven  and  one-half  feet  long. 

A  back  should  be  fitted  to  the  stern  seat  of  the  Ijoat, 
as  it  adds  greatly  to  the  comfort  and  ease  of  the  oarsman 
off  dtity. 


Three  oars  should  be  taken  in  }n-eference  to  a  pair 
alone. 

A  painter  of  extra  length  shoidd  be  provided,  and  a 
h)ng  stern  rope   may  be  very  useful   at   tinu'S   in   ra})ids. 

A  tent,  such  as  the  one  I  have  tised,  which  has  proved 
very  serviceable,  may  easily  be  made  as  follows.  The 
main  canvas  is  about  sixteen  feet  h)ng  and  seven  Avide. 
This  is  stretched    over  a  ridge-pole  and   fastened  to  the 


THE  Si'DBUIiY,  COXCUJID.  AXD  MEliJUMAC  .)-) 

oToiiiitl  1)V  }»e,ys,  tliivc  nil  cacli  side,  attached  to  double 
lioles  in  the  canvas  about  a  foot  and  a  half  from  the  edge, 
thus  leaving"  a  projecting  ilaj)  when  the  teid  is  u[).  \t 
the  rear  of  the  tent  a  triangular  piece  of  canvas  may  Ite 
sewed  to  one  lialf  of  the  main  piece,  ;uid  can  then  l)e 
l)Uttoned  on  the  otlier  side  and  fastened  (dose  to  the 
ground  by  four  or  five  pegs.  For  the  front  of  thc^  tent, 
instead  of  using  canvas  or  leaving  it  entirely  open.  I  have 
used  two  large  pieces  of  mosquito-netting.  !>}'  pinning 
tliese  to  the  edge  of  the  tent  and  allowing  them  to  tall  in 
folds  on  the  ground,  one  is  protected  against  mosquitoes 
and  other  plagues  o'  the  night,  while  tlie  projecting  Haps, 
weighted,  with  the  oars,  for  instance,  keep  them  out  at 
the  sides.  Cotton  drilling,  which  comes  two  feet  four 
and  a  half  inches  in  widtli,  and  sells  at  eiglit  to  ten  cents 
per  yard,  is  sufficiently  stout,  and  twenty-five  yards  is 
enoiigh  for  the  main  and  rear  pieces. 

Duck,  which  is  considerably  heavier  and  a  little  more 
durable,  is  of  the  same  width,  and  costs  from  twelve  to 
seventeen  cents  per  yard. 

I  have  always  cut  ridge-p(de  and  supports  at  the  begin- 
ning of  a  trip  and  carried  them  along  to  the  end.  I 
think,  however,  that  it  might  be  well  to  prepare  two  light 
supports  of  seasoned  wood  sharpened  at  the  h»wer  ends 
and  covered  with  an  iron  ferrule,  witli  holes  in  the  top, 
through  which  a  cord  could  be  passed  a'nd  knotted  on 
either  side  of  each  support  to  keep  it  from  slipping.     The 


66 


HOATIXC  mil's. 


cord  should  tlicii  be  I'asti'iK'd  at  cai-li  end  to  a  })ei;"  wliicli 
is  to  be  driven  into  the  ground  at  a  suitable  distance  from 
the  bottom  of  the  support.  Five  feet  and  eight  inches  is 
sufficiently  high  for  the  sup^jorts. 

It  usually  took  us  not  over  ten  minutes  to  \Aic\\  our 
tent,  using  supports  and  ridge-pole  of  green  wood;  l)ut 
with  the  improvements  1  have    suggested  it  would  take 


still  less  time  and  the  tent  would  be  more  trim  and  secure, 
though  our  tent  always  stood  u}i  in  all  sorts  of  weather 
and  never  leaked. 

Of  course  one  can  readily  dispense  with  a  tent 
altogether  and  stop  at  hotels  in  the  villages.  If,  liow- 
ever.  one  stops  at  hotels  he  may  nevertheless  enjoy  a  bit 
of  camp  life  l)y  taking  along  cooking  utensils  and  supplies. 
All  that  is  necessarv  of  the  former  are  coffee-pot,  tea-pot, 
a  frying-pan  (preferably  the  Acme),  sauce-pan,  tin  cups, 
tin  plates,  knives,  forks,  and  spoons.  Other  necessary 
adjuncts  to  camping  are  a  hatchet  and  candlestick.      As 


THE  SUDBUEY,  COXCOUD,  A  XI)  ME  111:  I  MAC.  oT 

for  supplies,  tastes  differ;  l)iit  aliiuist  eventliiiin'  desired, 
including  fresh  meat  ordinarily,  can  be  obtained  at  villages 
along  the  rivers.  Canned  roast  beef  and  baked  beans  are, 
however,  always  good  to  start  with  and  keep  in  the  larder, 
and  eanipers-out  now  generall}'  agree  that  tea,  perhaps 
English  breakfast  tea,  is  fully  as  niucli  a  necessity  as 
coffee. 

In  camping,  a  thick  comforter  is.  I  think,  the  l)est  kind 
of  a  blanket.  It  is  necessary  to  have  a  rubber  blanket 
also,  an  overcoat,  preferably  an  old  one ;  and  a  rubber 
coat  is  very  useful  under  any  circumstance. 

A  canvas  bag  is  very  convenient  to  keep  the  tent  in 
and  various  odds  and  ends,  and  a  box  should  be  made 
with  a  cover  for  cooking  utensils  and  supplies. 

These  suggestions  may  l)e  useful  in  some  respects, 
perhaps,  to  many  who  already  ]la^■e  found  [)leasure  and 
health  in  tlie  ever  new  and  delightful  experiences  of  a 
boating  trip,  and  they  will,  I  hope,  be  still  more  service- 
able to  those  to  whom  such  a  trip  would  be  an  entire 
novelty. 


AN   AUTUMN    CRUISE 


ON 


THE    HOUSATONIC 


FROM 


PITTSFIELD   TO  THE  SOUND. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PITTSFIELD.  LEE. 

A  RIVER  is  a  musical  poem.  Like  the  strains  of  an 
orchestra  its  various  streams  unite  and  pour  for- 
ward ill  rhythmic  melody.  Then,  too,  a  river  like  a  line 
epic  is  well  adorned,  having  for  its  constant  themes  woods 
and  hills  and  mountains,  a  mill  or  a  village,  farm-houses 
and  bridges,  and  a  genuine  atmosphere  overhead.  An 
epic  is  likely,  however,  to  grow  tiresome  ;  a  river,  never. 
You  read  a  poem  ;  you  enjoy  a,  river. 

The  Housatonic  River,  the  finest  of  poems,  is  the  chief 
ornament  of  Berkshire  County,  the  finest  of  prose. 

The  west  In-ancii  of  the  Housatonic  rises  among  the 
Hoosac  Mountains  of  northwestern  Massachusetts,  a 
section  of  the  State  which  has  not  inaptly  been  called 
tlie  Switzerland  of  America.  The  principal  source  of  the 
west  branch  is  in  the  town  of  Lanesborough.  Lake  Pon- 
toosuc,  a  broad  and  beautiful  sheet  of  water,  dotted  witli 
two  islands  in  the  middle,  may  be  considered,  liowever, 
the  actual  head  from  which  the  stream  flows  south  to 
Pittsfield.  The  principal  source  of  the  east  branch  is 
in  Hinsdale,  though  a  multitude  of  small  streams  join 
above  Dalton,  and  their  commingling  waters  flow  west- 
ward along  the  line  of  the  Boston  and  Albany  Railroad 


ti2  BOATIXa   Tin  PS. 

to  unite  Avitli  the  west  branch  just  helow  Pittsfichh  Tlir 
river  after  the  union  of  the  two  branches  Hows  in  ;i 
generally  southerly  direction  through  western  Massachu- 
setts and  western  Connecticut  for  altout  one  hundred  and 
lifty  miles  to  Long  Island  Sound.  It  derives  its  name 
from  tlic  Ilousatonic  tribe  of  Indians,  which  formerly 
inliabited  its  banks.  I  have  somewhere  read  that  Ilou- 
satonic signified  in  the  Indian  tongue,  "  Over  the 
mountains  :*"  but  I  should  think  a  more  correct  inter])re- 
tation  might  be  "  Anujug  the  mountains." 

I  had  an  appointment  to  meet  a  friend  at  Pittsfield 
toward  the  latter  part  of  September  for  the  puri)ose  of 
taking  a  row  down  the  Housatonic  —  to  enjoy  a  poem 
without  reading.  The  skiff  whicli  was  to  embody  the 
movement,  the  same  one  I  had  used  in  a  vo3-age  down  the" 
Sudbury,  Concord,  and  Merrimac,  was  sent  from  Boston 
to  Pittsfield  about  the  middle  of  September  by  the 
American  Express  Company.  The  expressage  was  three 
dollars  and  ninety  cents,  double  the  ordinary  rate.  'J'he 
fare  from  Boston  is  three  dollars  and  forty  cents. 

Pittslield,  tlie  shire  town  of  the  county,  settled  in 
1752,  and  named  after  William  Pitt,  the  great  English 
commoner,  has  a  population  of  about  twelve  thousand. 
It  is  situated  in  the  triangular  space  formed  within  tht' 
two  branches  of  the  river.  The  Boston  and  Albany 
Railroad  intersects  the  town  like  the  bar  of  an  A,  tlie 
l)ranclies  of   th?  river  representing   the    prohuigations  of 


THE  HO U,S ATOXIC  IlIVEIl 


63 


S  /  •"""f'-'.'-'H 


64 


isoATixa  iJ.'/rs. 


the  letter.  From  a  s(|uare  about  tlie  middle  of  the  town 
four  streets  radiate  toward  each  point  of  tlie  compass, 
called  respectively  North,  South,  East,  and  West  Streets. 
On  the  north  side  of  the  square  is  the  old  Town  Hall,  while 


^"^MotnesWr/fin^  ^^ 


opposite  is  a  very  handsome  library  of  unique  and  artistic 
design.  In  the  Athenannn  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
library  is  a  small,  old-fashioned,  upright  mahogany  desk 
upon  which  Hawthorne  wrote  The  Blithedale  Romance, 
The  Wonder-Book,  and  The  House  of  the  Seven 
Gables,  while  he  lived  in  the  little  old  red  house  on  the 
north  side  of  StockV)ridn'e  1)oav1  in  Lenox. 


THE  no  US  ATOXIC  lUVEE.  65 

After  (linini^  ;it  the  American  House,  as  tlie  friend 
who  was  to  accompany  me  on  the  river  was  busily 
engaged  in  •^•oncocting  a  brief,  or  some  sucli  con- 
trivance, it  was  agreed  that  I  should  take  the  boat 
ahme  to  Lenox  Station,  where  he  was  to  join  me  on 
the  arrival  of  the  five  o'clock  train  from  Pittstield,  and 
we  were  then  to  go  on  to  Lee  together.  I  proceeded 
to  tlie  office  of  the  exjjress  company,  and  was  there 
sid)jected  to  a  pett}'  annoyance  without  rliNinc  and  with 
little  reason.  The  agent  <leclined  to  deli\'er  the  boat 
at  the  river  at  South-street  brido'e  on  the  scroiuid  that  it 
was  beyond  the  schoolhouse,  which  he  affirmed  was  the 
limit  of  delivery.  It  Avas  beyond,  but  only  a  few  rods, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  there  might  be  a  slight  concession 
to  the  exigency  of  the  case  ;  Init  no,  the  ij>-sc  dixit  of  the 
agent  was  as  decisive  as  the  fulmination  (tf  a  Roman 
em})eror.  It  behooved  me,  therefore,  to  hud  another 
place  to  launch  the  craft,  and  I  soon  ascertained  that  the 
west  brancli  was  navigable  below  Pomerov's  lower  woolen- 
mill.  Here,  however,  another  difficulty  arose.  The 
aforesaid  agent  declined  to  deliver  tlie  boat  until  aftei- 
five  o'clock,  so  that  it  finally  became  necessary  to  procure 
a  team  at  additional  expense  and  a  great  deal  of  additional 
trouble. 

The  teamster  and  I  put  the  boat  in  the  river  below  the 
last  building  of  the  mill,  which  is  on  West  Housatonic 
Street.     It  woidd  be,  however,  an  easy  matter  to  get  over 


06 


I'.oATJMi  rinrs. 


the  dams  of  both  Avooh'ii-niills.  'I'he  Ixuit  had  ])ccii  in 
ordinary  several  weeks,  and  tin-  instant  it  touelied  the 
water,  to  nse  the  familiar  expression,  leaked  like  a  sieve. 
By  tliis  time  several  operatives  from  the  mill  had  gathered 


around,  and  we  lifted  the  boat  on  a  walk,  turned  her  over, 
and  I  was  engaged  an  hour  or  more  iu  caidking  the  widely 
distended  seams,  an  operation  in  which  one  or  another 
of  the  eonstantly  relayed  grou[>  of  interested  observers 
took  a  hand.  It  is  always  advisable  t(»  have  a  little 
oakum   and  oil-of-tnr    in   boatinu'.      T  had  neither,   T  must 


THE  no  USA  T(  >.\/('  /,7  I  'A'i.'.  6  7 

admit,  however,  and  had  sn])posed  there  eouhl  be  ii<t 
possible  occasion  for  anything  of  the  sort,  as  the  l)oat  had 
been  both  caulked  and  painted  in  anticipation  of  tin- 
trip.  We  used  e-otton  l>atting,  the  only  thing  available, 
which  proved  ([uite  serviceable,  though  I  suspect  that  the 
soaking  in  the  water  was  the  most  effective  remedy.  I 
had  in^•ited  any  one  of  my  co-laborers  whf)  felt  so  disposed 
to  join  me  as  far  as  Lenox  Station,  and  when  the  boat 
was  ready  for  its  iinal  launch  a  volunteer  ai)peared, 
arrayed  in   his  Sunday  best. 

We  put  the  boat  in  once  more  and  started  on  the  voyage 
about  three  o'clock.  The  stream  below  tlie  mill  is  about 
thirty  feet  wide,  and  winds  very  })leasantly  in  a,  small, 
narrow  valley  of  its  own.  We  soon  came  to  a  brand  new 
wire  fence  which  extended  directly  across  our  path  and 
looked  like  a  very  troublesome  obstacle,  as  the  wires  were 
full  of  sharp  })rojections.  Drifting"  to  it,  however,  stern 
foremost,  my  passenger  lifted  the  lowest  strand  over  his 
head,  I  carried  the  thorny  burden  precariously  over  my 
own,  and  we  passed  under  without  a  scratch.  Just  above 
South-street  bridgfe  we  ran  ao-ainst  a,  log  boomed  across 
the  stream.  We  passed  close  to  the  west  bank  under  the 
west  end  of  the  log  l)y  depressing  the  boat  nearly  to  the 
o-unwale  in  the  water.  I  do  nt»t  believe  tliat  the  boat 
displaced  quite  so  much  water  again  during  the  trip. 
Pulling  under  the  old  wooden  liridge  immediately  below, 
we  rowed  around  a  bend  and  bunted  against  another  log 


68  ji<)ATL\(i  I'jurs. 

lyin<^'  across  the  stream.  My  coinpanioii  in  assistiiiL;'  to 
lift  the  l)oat  over  th(^  cast  cud  l(»st  his  looting  on  the 
mossy  bank,  and  slid  into  the  water  eousid('ral)ly  above 
his  knees,  amid  expressions  of  great  disgnst.  We  ([iiiekly 
got  tlie  boat  over,  however,  and  started  on  and  soon  eanie 
to  another  obstruction  in  the  shape  of  a  ])laid\  walk.  We 
found  just  room  enough,  liowever,  to  ])ass  under  the  east 
end  with  ease. 

The  river  had  beeu  continually  rapid,  and  we  went 
swiftly  forward,  now  past  a  clump  of  woods  and  now 
along  open  meadows  with  both  banks  and  hillsides  near 
at  baud.  The  water,  discolored  by  the  refuse  of  the  mills 
above,  and  darkened  still  more  by  dense,  threatening 
clouds  overhead,  flowed  with  peculiar  shady  effects  over 
a  grassy  bed  in  shallow  places,  though  the  bottom  could 
not  be  seen  at  all  in  the  deeper  pools.  There  was  always 
sufticient  water,  however,  and  after  we  got  below  the 
junction  of  the  east  branch,  a  stream  about  the  same  size 
and  consistency  as  the  other,  we  had  an  abundance.  I 
allude  to  the  state  (jf  the  water,  as  the  trip  had  been 
delayed  on  account  of  a  fear  that  we  Avould  not  have 
sufticient  water  to  get  along  at  all,  as  the  season  had  been 
remarkably  dry.  I  have  little  hesitation,  however,  i  i 
saying  that  the  river  from  Pittstield  to  Falls  Village  i.> 
navigable  in  a  flat-bottomed  l)oat  at  all  times ;  and  that 
one  can  indeed  get  along  below  Falls  Village,  too,  although 
the  greater  the  volume  of  water  below  that  point  the 
greater  the  jdeasure  of  a  tri]). 


THE  UOISATOMC   UIVHU.  69 

The  river  soon  woiuid  under  another  l)ri(lo-e  and  tlien 
writhed  in  extraordinary  fashion  in  quite  an  extensive 
intervale.  We  h)itered  along  its  windings,  tlie  swift 
current  beguiling  us  into  thinking  that  we  were  making 
great  progress  and  would  easily  reach  Lenox  Station  l»y 
five  o'clock.  Greylock  drifted  to  and  fro  across  tlie  rear 
of  the  valley  in  the  distance  to  the  nortli.  Perhaps,  hoA\'- 
ever,  it  was  the  winding  river  that  drifted  to  and  fro. 
I  know  not  how  it  may  have  been  ;  the  effect  was  the 
same,  and  even  now  in  memory  I  see  a  blue  mountain  of 
vagnely  beautiful  outline,  solemnly  moving  from  side  to 
side  across  a  valley  landscape,  shadowily  ])icturesque. 

The  clouds,  however,  threatened  rain  every  moment, 
and  the  rising  wind,  blowing  fresh  as  if  from  the  ocean, 
added  stimulus  to  our  constant  apprehension  of  an  imme- 
diate downpour.  It  did  not  come,  however,  but  tlie 
darkness  above  only  served  to  bestow  on  all  the  valley 
an  intense,  deep,  sombre  green.  No  liouse  was  in  sight, 
and  all  was  silence.  The  river  was  as  variable  in  its 
course  as  the  wind  is  usually  supposed  to  be,  and  some- 
times, assuming  that  the  wind  was  steadfast,  we  had  the 
breeze  at  our  l)ack,  frecpiently  on  one  side  or  the  other, 
and  occasionally  in  our  faces.  After  a  Avliile  T  resigned 
the  oars  to  my  companion,  who  had  long  been  itching  to 
row.  He  exerted  his  muscle  with  terrific  force,  and,  as 
the  boat  was  light,  and  easy  rowing,  and  (juickly  tin-ned, 
he  produced  some  startling  al)errations  from  the  ordinary 


70  noATJNd  Tiurs. 

line  of  oTir  ])r()gress.  His  kiu^es  were  tlie  occiasion  of 
a  great  deal  of  troiiljlc  Having  oiieo  got  the  sti'oke 
well  past  those  ti'oublcsoine  projections,  however,  he  was 
all  right  for  the  rest  of  it.  Taking  one  (jnitc  despcn-ate 
stroke,  liowever,  after  the;  nsual  interrnplion  at  tiie  knees, 
then;  was  a  loud  craek  and  the  rowing-seat,  which  was 
thin  and  springy,  ])roke  into  a  half-dozen  pieces  and  let 
the  oarsman  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  boat  with  a  great 
shock.  Luckily  we  had  witli  us  a  stray  board  which  we 
had  used  as  a  rest  to  keep  our  feet  out  of  the  water  wliicli 
poured  into  the  boat  in  spite  of  the  cotton  batting,  and 
this  was  made  to  answer  for  a  rowing-seat,  while  there- 
after we  bailed  oftener  than  ever. 

And  now  the  river  had  come  to  a  woody  mountain  on 
the  east  side  of  the  valley,  and  l)egan  a  game  of  tag  with 
the  high  and  mighty  dignitary.  It  ran  up  to  the 
mountain,  and  tlien  edged  away  in  the  devious  ways 
known  only  to  a  river,  and  then  again,  after  approaching 
the  immovable  and  dignified  inountain,  bounded  away 
over  the  meadows.  After  a  while  we  heard  a  train 
whistling  ahead,  and,  as  it  was  past  five  o'clock,  we 
concluded  we  were  not  far  from  Lenox  Station.  We 
had  not  once  caught  sight  of  tlie  railroad,  however. 
Pulling  ra})idly  on  we  came  to  a  bridge,  the  fifth  from 
Pittstield,  I  think,  and  Itelow  on  the  west  bank  was  a  .arge 
house.  Liquiring  of  a  boy  where  we  were,  he  said  at 
Dewey's  Station,  which  is  only  three  miles  below  Pitts- 


Tin:  iloUSATOSKJ  lilVKlL  71 

field.  'J'hc  boy — li«  Avas  not  an  encouraging  youth  at 
all  —  gave  a  very  dislieartening  aeeount  of  the  long 
(listanee  still  before  us  to  Lenox  Station  ;  but  both  my 
companion  and  myself,  voting  him  an  ill-omened  prophet, 
decided  that  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done  but 
keep  on. 

The  river  from  Dewey's  goes  with  an  evener  current, 
and  renewed  the  game  of  tag  witli  a  range  of  mountains 
wliich  begins  just  below.  Soon  after  starting,  the  clouds, 
which  mercifully  for  us  had  not  dispensed  rain,  not  even 
a  drop,  broke  into  fleecy  mists  and  drifted  away,  tinged 
with  a  deep  red  glow  by  the  setting  sun.  After  a  while 
we  found  ourselves  on  a  dark  river  in  a  very  dark  land.- 
scape.  And  now  my  com2)anion  pi'oved  to  be  a  com- 
panion indeed.  ^Nlalachi  was  an  optimist.  He  assured 
me  every  few  strokes  that  it  could  not  be  far  to  Lenox 
now,  and  in  truth  I  often  gave  him  the  same  assurance  in 
return.  We  were  once  startled  nearly  out  of  ovu-  wits  by 
the  voice  of  a  man  on  a  bank  fishing.  We  had  not 
perceived  him  at  all  when  he  broke  the  deep,  black 
solitude  by  asking  us  if  we  could  assist  him  to  splice  tlie 
main  brace.  We  explained  that  we  were  not  sailors,  only 
oarsmen.  In  vain  I  endeavored  to  ascertain  whether  we 
were  in  the  pond  opposite  Lenox  Station,  but  1  coidd 
not  tell  when  we  passed  through  it,  nor  see  the  station, 
though  we  passed  within  fifty  yards  of  it,  and  Malachi 
was    as    ignorant   as    myself.      We    finally    pulled    under 


72  iioA'iiM!  iinrs. 

a  bri(lo-f.  ;iii<l,  iiist  hclow.  llic  how  •»!'  tlic  Uoiit  ti'rattMl 
liarslily  <iii  the  !:;i'av('l  at  tht'  edye  ot"  a  stone  dam. 
Eiitiix'ly  iiiii'ainihar  witli  the  hx-alitv,  and,  as  we  had 
a])])ai'ently  not  passed  thronn'h  any  ])ond,  thinking  that 
we  had  not  yet  arrived  at  Lenox,  we  nevertheless 
moored  the  boat,  as  the  channel  below  the  dam  was  (b-y. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  depot  of  Lenox  Station  was  at 
the  end  of  the  l)ridge  we  had  just  passed,  but  having  no 
suspicion  of  it,  and  still  encouraged  by  the  optimism  of 
my  friend  ]\bdaehi,  whose  tendency,  as  well  as  my  own, 
was  forward,  we  walked  down  the  track  with  alterna- 
tions of  doubt  and  conviction,  a  mile  to  Lenox  Furnace  ; 
and  tlien,  after  sending  a  telegram  to  my  intended  fellow- 
voyager  who  had  gone  on  to  Lee,  we  retraced  our  steps 
to  Lenox  Station,  where,  upon  the  <leparture  of  the  nine- 
o'clock  train  that  carried  Malachi  back  to  Pittsfield,  I  took 
the  stage  to  Lenox,  distant  two  and  one-half  miles,  and 
folind  shelter,  which  I  had  at  one  time  seriously  despaireil 
of  obtaining,  at  Curtis's  Hotel.  In  the  office  \  gazed 
with  a  present  sympathy  upon  an  allegorical  picture 
which  graced  one  of  the  walls:  '"The  Vo3'age  of  Life  — 
Old  Age."  On  the  hearth  the  embers  of  the  tire  sent 
a  thrill  of  warmth  through  me,  for  the  night  air  was  cold, 
and  supper,  a  ten  o'clock  one,  —  the  table  is  excellent, — 
soon  sent  another  of  a  different  and  better  kind.  The 
hotel  is  quite  a  fashionable  lesort  and  performs  its  share 
in  what  Mr.  James,  in  his  n(>te  al)out  Hawthorne  (a  very 


THE  no  I  SA  roSIC  in  I  'KJl.  73 

poetic  strain  of  criticism,  not  in  the  least  inconclusive), 
calls  the  lionizatif>n  of  Lenox.  Numerous  odds  aud  ends 
of  antique  bric-a-brac  are  scattered  over  the  house.  The 
rage  for  tliat  sort  of  thing  may  indeed  he  said  to  reach 
liigh-water  mark  in  Curtis's  large,  and,  in  the  way  • 
indicated,  old-fashioned  and  comfortable  hostelry. 

J  took  the  early  coach  the  following  morning,  to  meet 
my  fellow-voyager  on  the  arrival  of  the  early  train  at  the 
station.  The  regular  stage-driver  is  also,  strange  to  say, 
the  station-agent,  a  remarkable  union  of  callings,  it  seems 
to  me.  Another  driver,  however,  took  his  place,  wii**,  as 
it  turned  out,  liad  no  key  to  the  station  wherein  our  oars 
and  baggage  had  been  locked  u[)  the  night  before,  and  so 
W2  had  to  wait  nearly  an  hour  for  the  arrival  of  the 
double-headed  functif»nary  l)efore  we  could  get  our  stuff 
and  go  on.  How  odd  the  scene  around  looked  by  the 
garish  light  of  da}"  I  There  was  the  pond,  or,  rather, 
a  narrow  channel  through  the  middle  of  a  wide  ex[)anse 
of  mud,  and  tlie  bridge,  and  the  river,  all  as  i)lain  as 
need  be ! 

We  found  the  gate  at  the  head  of  tlie  sluice-way  at  the 
east  end  of  tlie  dam  raised  so  we  coidd  pass  under ;  other- 
wise it  would  have  been  necessary  to  carry  over  on  the 
east  side,  as  it  is  not  advisable,  under  any  circumstances, 
1  should  think,  to  try  the  river  belc»w  the  dam.  Follow- 
ing the  canal,  we  soon  came  to  another  dam.  Taking  the 
boat  out  bek)Av  the  gate-way,  we  had  a  very  short  carry 


74 


liOATINd    TJUrS. 


aroiiiul  tlie  lower  side  of  tlie  mill  to  the  liver.  Tlic  mill 
belongs  to  the  Smith  Paper  ( "ompaiiy,  and  is  known  as 
the  Pleasant  Valley  ^Nfill.  Paper  is  made  here  one  hun- 
dred inches  wide,  on  tlie  largest  machine  in  the  country. 


Pulling  on  down  stream,  we  soon  came  in  sight  of  a 
bridge,  above  which  rose,  just  beyond  on  tlie  Mest  bank, 
the  S(|uare  tower,  surmounted  by  three  brick  chimneys, 
of  an  ii-on  fui'uace,  which  sometime  apparently  impressed 
the  name  Lenox  Furnace  on  the   small   settlement   there- 


THE  llOUSATOXrC  lilVEE.  75 

about.  The  dam  is  just  below  tlie  bridge.  If  water  is 
pouring  over  tlie  dam,  tlie  best  way  to  get  around  is  to  go 
to  the  west  shore,  and  carry  around  tlie  grist-mill,  putting 
in  under  tlie  barrel-flume  below.  The  water  was  so  low 
that  we  let  the  boat  down  over  the  middle  of  the  dam. 
We  [)ulled  l)y  the  furnace,  which  lias  an  air  of  ancient 
greatness  gone  to  rack  and  ruin,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
came  to  another  dani  of  the  Smith  Paper  Company.  We 
carried  two  or  three  rods,  and  put  in  tlie  sluice-way  on  the 
east  side  of  tlie  dam,  and  thence  floated  down  to  the  mill, 
where  we  carried  the  boat  around  the  mill  on  a  wheel- 
barrow, and  })ut  in  the  tail-race  just  below.  A  high  bank 
made  it  awkw^ard  to  launch  the  boat,  and  the  stern  dipped 
some  water.  After  bailing,  several  hundred  lucky-bugs  that 
had  been  scooped  in  i-emained  and  l)eat  an  incessant  and 
multitudinous  tattoo.  The  water  ran  swiftly  in  the  race. 
and  we  S(joii  emerged  into  the  river.  Ere  long  we  came  to 
an  island,  and  attempting  to  get  by  got  aground,  and  had 
to  go  back  and  take  the  west  side,  where  is  an  abundance 
of  swift  water.  Immediately  below,  the  river  S})read  out 
over  a  gravelly  bed,  and  wc  had  very  liard  woi'k  to  [)ush 
over.  The  banks  are  quite  })icturesque  here,  especially 
just  above  and  below  an  old  wooden  bridge.  A  range  of 
mountains  which  borders  the  valley  on  the  east  adds  fine 
emphasis  to  the  scene.  All  admiration  of  scenery,  how- 
ever, was  soon  stopped  l)y  another  dam,  which  furnishes 
motive  power  to   the   Columbia    Mills.     If  the   water  is 


76  noATJM!  Tirii'S. 

liigli,  the  best  way  to  get  l)y  is  to  })ull  over  the  enibaiik- 
ineiit  oil  the  west  side.  We  made  a  cany  on  the  east  side 
w  ith  a  wlieelbarrow.  Then  a  short  pull  over  a  ])oiid-like 
streti'h  of  water,  past  a  row  of  houses  on  the  east  side  in 
the  village  of  Lee,  l)r()ught  us  to  the  (huii  of  the  Eagle 
Mills.  II'  the  water  is  higli,  it  is  better  to  carry  over  on 
the  west  bank.  We  had  a  hard  tug  of  it  on  the  east 
si(U^,  taking  out  just  abt)ve  the  mill,  and  lugging  the  l)oat 
across  the  road  before  we  could  put  in.  Immediately 
below  is  the  dam  of  the  Housatonic  Mill.  Here  it  is 
necessary  to  put  in  the  sluice-way  on  the  east  side.  We 
left  our  boat  at  the  bridge  just  above  the  mill,  which  is 
very  nearly  the  centre  of  the  village. 


CHAPTER    II. 

LEE. GREAT    HAHlMX(JTON. 

T~  EE  is  an  energetic  and  tliriving  village,  having 
a  much  more  business-like  appearance  than  other 
towns  along  the  river.  The  UKJst  striking  feature  of 
natural  beauty  is  Fern  Cliff,  a  rugged  ledge  of  granite, 
crowned,  however,  with  graceful  trees,  that  frowns  upon 
the  town  just  back  of  the  principal  street.  We  remained 
at  Lee  two  days,  and  one  afternoon  attended  the  annual 
meeting  of  the  Fern  Cliff  Association,  ;i  society  wliich 
has  for  its  object  the  improvement  of  the  streets  of  the 
village,  and  chiefly  attending  to  sidewalks  and  crossings, 
and  setting  out  shade-trees  and  shrubbery.  The  meeting 
was  held  on  Fern  Cliff',  which  commaiids  a  very  fine  view 
of  the  houses  of  the  village  below,  and  the  river  and 
Berkshire  Hills.  A  very  elo(|ueiit  address  was  delivered 
by  the  Rev.  Washington  Gladden,  on  The  Use  of  the 
Beautiful.  The  accomplished  orator  spoke  in  the  open 
air,  in  the  midst  of  a  scene  of  beauty  that  was  indeed 
an  omnipresent  commentary  on  his  theme.  There  is  an 
association  of  tlie  same  character  at  Stockbridge  called 
the  Laurel  Hill  Society,  from  an  elevation  near  by,  which 
has  wrought  a  marvel  in  the  appearance  of  that  beautiful 
place,  and  keeps  it  in  a  marvelously  fine  condition.     It 


78 


BOATIXa   TIllI'S. 


is  to  l)e  hoped,  indeed,  that  a  society  having  the  same 
object  will  spring  wyi  in  every  village  thronghout  the 
land. 


'%.■<. 


>-^     -^^ 


''''^^/7/c.,/>.«^  ^g^,„  C/rff 


The  customary  and  favorite  drive  from  Lee  is  to  Lenox, 
distant  about  three  miles.  The  distiuGfuishino'  character- 
istic  of  Nahant  is  brown  paint,  Newport  affects  the 
veranda,  and  Saratoga  the  broad  piazza;  l)ut  life  at 
Lenox  is  incomplete   unless  one   lives  in  a  house  sided 


'/'///•;  iior.sA'rox/c  hivkh.  79 

with  shingles.  There  is  the  old-fash ioued  colonial  man- 
sion, too,  and  the  more  modern  box,  and  a  great  variety 
of  styles  l)esides.  Formerly  the  county  seat,  the  (»ld 
Court  House  and  town  huildings  impart  to  the  village  an 
exaggerated  idea  of  past  importance.  It  overflows  with 
fashionable  life  through  a  long  season.  There  is  alst), 
withal,  a  distinctive  literary  flavor  about  the  town. 
Hawthorne,  Beecher,  Holmes,  Mrs.  Kemble,  Miss  Sedg- 
wick, Miss  Cushman.  have  all  lived  there  at  times ;  while 
Longfellow,  James,  and  Melville  have  dwelt  in  the  valley 
near  at  hand.  It  has,  however,  as  its  crowning  glory,  a 
constant  vision  of  a  broad  landsca})e  of  valley  and  moun- 
tain, indescribably  blended  in  beauty.  The  drive  is  then, 
ordinarily,  to  the  top  of  l>ald  Head  Mountain,  which 
commands  a  fine  pros])ect  of  the  "brilliant  and  generous" 
landscape.  The  view  southward  is,  in  truth,  superb. 
Below,  near  at  hand,  is  Stockbridge  Bowl ;  beyond,  rising- 
above  fertile  upland  and  lowland,  a  rolling  plain  of  field 
and  forest,  is  Monunu'ut  Mountain,  while  a  range  of  the 
Green  ]Mou;itains  guards  the  valley  on  the  east,  and  tlie 
Taconic  range,  which  nK)unts  high  up  in  air  in  the  Dome, 
runs  along  the  western  side.  Then  the  drive  is  along  the 
road  that  leads  near  the  northerly  edge  of  the  Bowl,  l^y 
Tangiewood,  made  famous  as  a  residence  of  Hawthorne. 
It  is  a  small,  red  house,  Avith  a  wing  on  the  west  side, 
which  was  formerly  the  east  ^ing.  Apart  from  this 
change,  however,  and  a  fi'W  slight  alterations  within,  the 


80 


r.oATixa  Titirs. 


house  is  tlu>  saim;  as  wlicii  it  was  occupied  by  Hawthorne. 
C)ii  a  i^-lass  ill  on(!  of  the  windows  is  still  preserved  the 
iuscri})tiou,  cut  in  the  author's  own  handwriting,  "  Nath'l 
Hawthorne,  ^Nlarcli  21st,  1853."  'I'liere  are  open  fire- 
places in  two  ot"  the  rooms,  but  its  chief  value  as  a,  resi- 
dence is  the  beautiful  landscapes  the  window^s  on  the 
south  side  of  the  house  frame  of  the  Berkshire  Hills. 


iiE-iP 


i'''K. 


'jm'^ 


^Dod 


'^^..    'cj?> 


From  Tangiewood  a  road  leads  direct  to  Stockbridge, 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  villages  in  the  Housatonic 
valley  ;  and  thence  one  may  return  to  Lee  either  by  a  road 
over  the  hills  or  along  the  river.  This  drive  is,  through- 
out, in  a  region  of  fashion.  One  is,  indeed,  almost  as 
likely  to  meet  a  four-in-hand  as  a  farmer's  wagon.  Pine 
residences  are  frequent,  and  everywhere  are  evidences  of 
careful  cultivation. 


I 


riiK  no  us  ATONIC  HI  VEIL  81 

There  is  a  lonesome  drive,  liowever,  east  of  Lee,  which 
is  very  fine  in  its  way,  and  in  some  respects  snperior  to 
the  other.  The  road  leads  just  jiortli  of  the  village, 
through  a  long,  steep,  woody  pass  between  two  mountains 
to  the  town  of  Washington.  The  original  settlei's  hiive 
of  late  years,  though,  for  the  most  part,  descended  into  tlie 
valley  or  llown  westward,  and  a  foreign  population  has 
largely  succeeded  to  the  old  farms  ;  and  now  upon  the 
liigh  lands  hero,  remote  from  city  or  village,  many  a  son 
of  Erin  cultivates  his  scanty  potato  patch,  grazes  his 
cattle,  and  views  with  utmost  com})lacency  a  noble  land- 
scape of  tund)ling  mountains.  Then  continuing  south 
along  the  upland  to  the  road  from  liecket,  you  turn  west- 
ward, and  from  tlic  summit  of  the  mountain,  as  you  pre- 
pare to  descend,  the  view  is  more  than  sim})ly  beautiful : 
it  is  grand.  The  road  itself  is  visible  only  a  short  distance 
as  it  winds  down  the  side  of  the  mountain,  and  there  is 
nauo-ht  else  to  be  seen  but  a  billowy  sea  of  forests,  risinu; 
and  falling  in  mountain  crests  until  they  dash  upward  in 
the  distant  horizon  in  the  misty  bights  of  the  lordly  Cats- 
kills.  The  striking  feature  of  the  scene,  due  to  the  singu- 
lar vantage  of  the  point  of  view,  is  the  utter  absence  of 
anything  like  civilization,  even  a  cultivated  field.  You 
might  be  among  the  fastnesses  of  the  Adirondacks  or  the 
wilds  of  Maine,  for  aught  that  appears  The  road  below 
is  winding  and  steep  in  places,  but  from  East  Lee  ])retty 
level  and  straight  to  Lee. 


82  noATixa  rinrs. 

On  Saturday  morning  we  renewed  the  voyage.  We 
carried  the  boat  around  the  west  side  of  the  mill  and  put 
her  in  tlie  tail-race  just  helow,  and  got  off  at  ten  o'clock  on 
a  swift  current  of  Tiberisli  yellow.  We  stopped  on  the 
west  shore,  just  ht-low  the  outlet  of  the  canal,  and  climl»e(l 
u})  the  bank,  over  the  refuse  of  a  (piarry,  to  the  edge  of 
the  excavation  which  looked  like  an  inverted  windowless 
palace  of  white  marble.  It  is  a  singular  fact  that  white 
marble  is  fre(iuently  used  in  and  about  Lee  for  founda- 
tions and  walls,  seemingly  a  l)ase  prostitution  of  pure  and 
valuable  material.  Tiie  river  is  narrow,  and  winds  very 
pleasantly  with  a  rippling  current  past  the  East  Lee  val- 
ley, and  then  at  the  mouth  of  the  wider  valley  which  runs 
between  two  mountain  ranges  to  Tyringham,  pursuing 
here,  for  many  miles,  a  westerly  course  as  far  as  Glendale. 
The  Housatonic  is,  in  truth,  a  confirmed  coquette,  con- 
stantly flirting  with  one  mountain  range  or  another,  and 
frequently  several  at  the  same  time. 

Our  sudden  and  unexpected  appearance  was  the  occa- 
sion of  stampeding  several  horses,  and  quite  often  an 
affright  to  the  patient  cow  who  usually  turned  and 
clumsily  trotted  away  in  a  state  of  mild  distraction.  We 
rowed  very  close  to  two  Alderney  bossies,  however,  who 
stood  with  forefeet  firmly  planted  in  the  water  and  gazed 
at  us  with  melancholy  surprise  in  their  wide-open,  inno- 
cent brown  eyes,  curiosity  evidently  overcoming  their 
fear.     After  rowing  about  an  hour,  we  met  two  boys  com- 


THE  IK.)  USA  roSK  '  l!IVi:i!.  83 

iiig  up  stream  with  an  effort,  in  a  light  outrigged  pair  oar, 
who  turned  about  and  accompanied  us  under  the  raihoad 
bridge,  and  thence,  across  the  pond,  to  the  dam  at  South 
Lee.  We  put  ashore  on  tlie  east  side,  and  in  a  few  min^ 
utes  (twelve  in  all,  I  believe),  with  the  help  of  the  boys, 
had  carried  in  front  uf  tlie  mill  of  the  Hurlbut  Paper 
Company,  and  after  sliding  the  boat  over  a  stone  embank- 
ment opposite  the  middle  of  the  west  side  of  the  mill, 
launched  her  on  the  river.  Just  l)el()\v  the  mill  we 
entered  a  M'estward  sweep  calmly  curving  l)et\veen  border- 
ing trees,  and  pulled  away  from  a  steep,  densely  wooded 
mountain  slope  which  rises  sheer  from  the  east  end,  and 
seemed  to  grow  higher  and  higher  with  every  stroke.  A 
rock  peered  out  of  water  here  and  there,  Init  there  was  a 
fair  current  and  the  going  was  very  delightful  all  the  way 
to  Stockbridge.  Just  above  the  village,  we  passed  under 
a  slender  bridge  which  leads  to  Icy  Glen,  half  a  mile  dis- 
tant on  the  east  side,  where  ice  is  said  to  remain  all  the 
year  round.  At  one  o'clock  we  pulled  ashore  under  the 
west  end  of  the  bridge  wliich  leads  from  the  station  at 
Stockbridge,  to  the  village. 

Stockbridge  is  a  singularly  beautiful  Ne^^■  England 
village.  It  is  located  on  a  broad  and  fertile  intervale 
close  to  the  Housatonic.  The  principal  aA^enue,  which 
is  a  little  over  a  mile  in  length,  is  nearly  straight  and 
nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  wide  in  its  widest  part. 
It  is,  of  course,  well  shaded  bv  long  rows  of  trees,  and  is 


84  lioATi.Xd  rini's. 

kt>]>t  s('ruj)iil(»usly  clciiii.  Tlic  houses  Ix-iiciitli  tlio  droop- 
ing elms  are  very  tasteliil,  and  there  hangs  about  the 
entire  vilhige  an  air  of  aristoeratie  (piiet  very  graeeful  and 
becoming.  Stockbridge  obtains  its  cliief  distinction  as 
having  been  the  residence  of  Jonallian  Kdwards.  The 
house  is  still  pointed  out  where  he  wroti;  his  most  famons 
production,  The  Freedom  of  tlie  Will.  A  monument 
has  been  erected  to  liis  menu)ry  in  Stockbridge  Street. 
At  the  lower  end  of  the  street,  on  a  slight  elevation,  is  an 
uneoutli,  unhewn  stone,  j)erhaps  thirty  feet  high,  and 
upon  the  l)ase  the  inscri[)tion,  "  The  Ancient  Burial  Place 
of  the  Stockbridge  Indians  —  The  Friends  of  Our  Fathers. 
1734."  There  are  many  l)eautiful  residences  in  and 
around  the  village,  among  others  the  summer  home  of 
David  Dudley  Field,  the  well-known  New  Y(nk  lawyer, 
Henry  M.  Field,  the  editor,  and  Ivis(j]i,  the  l)ook  publisher. 
The  towns  of  Great  Barrington  and  Stockbridge,  Lenox 
and  Lee,  are  all  indeed  tine  tributes  on  man's  part  toward 
the  ad(n-iiment  of  a  remarkably  [)ictures(][ue  and  l^eautiful 
region. 

We  dined  at  the  Stockbridge  House,  which,  like  Curtis's 
Hotel,  abounds  in  old-fashioned  colonial  bric-a-brac. 
Among  other  furnishings  are  fine  ancient  stoves  for  open 
wood-hres.  One  is  surmounted  by  a  huge  iron  dome  that 
embodies  a  strange  conceit  of  the  beautiful  in  ornamenta- 
tion. 

We  got  under  way  again  at  two  o'clock,  and  greatly 


THE  HOUSATOMC  JUVKU.  85 

enjo3'ed  the  sail  along  the  winding,  watery  hme  below  the 
bridge.  The  river  is  very  crooked.  At  one  place  we 
approached  qnite  close  to  a  church  and  the  stone  tower, 
inclosing'  a  chime  of  hells,  erected  in  commemoration 
of  the  site  where  John  Sargeant  first  i)reached  the  gospel 
to  the  Indians,  and  presented  to  the  toAvn  by  Mrs.  David 
Dudley  Field,  and  then  shot  away,  leaving  it  beliind 
forever,  as  we  supposed.  The  river,  however,  after 
wandering  a  long  way  eastward,  returned  again  almost 
to  the  base  of  the  tower,  I  was  about  to  say,  and  the  tower 
disap[)eared  and  came  into  view  several  times  thereafter. 
Below  we  })assed  around  the  ox-bow.  The  banks  were 
frequently  lined  with  willows,  and  were  often  dense  with 
masses  of  creeping  vines.  We  })ulled  by  a  very  cosy 
landing  on  tlic  east  side,  where  were  ^moored  three  l)oats 
of  a  liigh  and  dainty  aspect.  I  should  think,  indeed,  that 
tliere  would  be  more  boating  here,  a:s  the  stream  is  wide, 
the  current  slow,  and  the  banks  and  all  the  scenery 
remarkably  fine.  The  river  is  superior  on  some  accounts 
to  the  Concord  at  Concord,  simply  lacking  boating  culti- 
vation. It  flows  slowly  to  Glendale,  Avhere  there  is  a 
dam  and  mill.  We  bunted  the  bow  of  the  boat  against 
a  corner  of  the  bulkhead  on  the  west  side,  directly  in 
front  of  the  tower  of  the  mill,  and  procuring  a  wheelbarrow 
wheeled  the  boat  around.  It  was  only  seven  rainutes  from 
the  time  we  touched  the  bulkhead  l)efore  we  were  again 
under  way  in  the  swift  current  below  the  mill.      In  a  few 


86 


liOATIXli   Til  I  PS. 


minutes  llie  river  makes  an  exceedingly  acute  beml,  wliich 
the  railroad  follows  on  ilie  cast  hank.  At  the  end  of  the 
bend  is  a  high  dam  with  a  red  mill  on  the  west  bank 
below.  We  landed  at  the  easterly  end  of  the  dam  and 
made  the  carry  over    it  in  about    twelve  minutes.     The 


^-'',.k:<  L^?r  ^-SSlJ''''^/'  ' " 


III//,' ' 


channel  below  is  (juite  wide  and  shallow,  and  is  best 
navigable  on  tlie  east  side.  Just  below  the  mill,  however, 
the  various  streams  unite  and  pour  through  a  narrow 
channel,  in  which  are  two  large  rocks  set  diagonally  in 
the  current  a  little  way  apart.  The  oarsman  intended 
to  go  near  the  west  shore  ;  but  the  current  proved  too 
strong  and  swept  us  down  toward  the  rocks  with  great 


THE  IIOUSATOXIC  niVER.  87 

force  and  we  passed  between  them  with  a  rush,  and, 
luckily,  without  touching.  The  river  below  is  shallow 
and  rocky.  It  is  not  dangerous,  but  very  bothersome. 
We  bumped  on  rocks,  and  every  once  in  a  while  hitting 
some  obstruction,  let  the  boat  swing  around,  so  that  we 
Sometimes  went  bow  on,  though  most  i)f  the  time,  and 
such  was  our  intention,  stern  foremost.  The  Housatonic 
Railroad  crosses  the  river  on  a  bridge  just  al)ove  the  end 
<»f  the  shallows.  The  stretch  of  ra})ids  is  a  short  half-mile 
in  length,  though  a  very  long  one  indeed  it  seemed  in 
reality.  Not  far  below  the  end  of  the  shallows  is  a  fall, 
safe  to  run  at  almost  any  stage  of  water.  We  plunged 
through  stern  foremost  in  fine  style,  and  then  })assed 
between  the  fragmentary  ends  of  a  ruined  dam  by  some 
miserably  old  and  wretched  abandoned  buildings  on  the 
east  bank,  going  at  a  lively  pace  in  swift  water. 
Shortly  below,  —  I  think  it  was  here;  —  the  river  divides 
into  several  channels,  and  we  wandered  a  long  time 
through  one,  a  delightful,  narrow,  leaf-eml)owered  water- 
path,  where  the  current  ran  dee})  and  swift  through  many 
a,  circuitous  crook  before  finding  its  way  to  the  main 
stream  again. 

The  river  rounds  the  northerly  end  of  Abtnnment 
Mountain  and  then  half  way  along  its  westerly  side,  until 
stopped  at  the  dam  of  the  Monument  Mills,  at  Housa- 
tonic. The  mountain,  covered  with  a  scraggy  growth  of 
trees,    rises    precipitously    from     the     water.      Near    the 


88  i;<Kvri\<;   rini's. 

SUiiiiiiit  arc  nin<4(Ml  raradcs  el  r(iUi;li  ^raiiilc.  'V\\v  siiiii- 
iiiit.  w  liicli  is  ill  tlic  middle  of  the  valley,  coiiiiiiands  ;i 
wide,  circiilav  \ic\\  of  j^Tcat  heaiily.  The  ele^■ali()ll 
derives  its  name  from  a  tradition  that  iin  Indian  maiden, 
i)liglite(l  in  love  and  unable  to  overcome  lier  passion, 
sou^'lit  veliel"  and  eternity  by  jninping  from  one  of  tlie 
elifl's.  Her  body  Avas  interrc^d  wIku'c  it  was  found,  and 
above  lier  grave  was  built  up  '"a  eone  of  small,  loose 
stones.'"  Every  visitor  thereafter,  even  wdien  all  lier 
dusky  compatriots  had  vanished  from  the  scene,  a(hled,  as 
in  duty  bound,  a  stone  to  the  })ile.  which  at  length  became 
a  monument  of  imposing  dimensions.  A  veritable  icono- 
clast, however,  put  an  end  to  the  venerable  custom  a  long 
time  ago,  by  scattering  the  pile  to  discover  wliat  was 
beneath,  and,  most  ])roper  retribution,  found  nothing  for 
his  trouble.  The  mountain  itself,  which  had  ahvays 
within  memory  been  called  Monument  Mountain,  is  noA\", 
indeed,  the  single  eternal  memorial  of  her  sad  fate. 

The  story  is  verj^  happily  embalmed  in  verse  by  Bryant. 

Hawthorne  compares  Monument  Mountain,  clad  in  rich 
and  diversified  autunmal  foliage,  to  a  huge,  headless  sphinx 
wra})ped  in  a  Persian  shawl. 

We  landed  by  a  clump  of  willows  on  the  west  shore,  and 
at  the  village  store  found  a  team,  upon  which  Ave  w^ere 
carried,  with  the  boat,  across  the  bridge  and  aroiind  the 
end  of  Cone's  Mill,  where,  after  a  delay  of  only  tAventy 
minutes  in  all,  we  put  in  the   tail-race  and  swiftly  floated 


THE  llOrs ATOXIC  mVKl!.  89 

into  the  pond  abovf  Cone's  new  mill,  wliieli  is  ahont  lialf 
a  mile  below  the  other.  We  landed  at  the  west  end  of 
the  dam,  and  withont  mnch  trouble  hauled  the  boat  over 
a  o-ravel  embankment,  and  after  slidino;  her  down  the 
loAver  side,  started  on.  Only  a  slender  stream  of  water 
was  jxiuring  over  the  dam,  and  wi'  found  the  channel 
below  very  shallow  in  several  j)hu-es  ;  and  just  above  a  wire 
fence  we  had  to  take  the  boat  out  and  lower  her  by  means 
of  a  cord  at  the  l)ow  and  another  at  the  stern,  into  the  end 
of  the  tail-race.  The  mill  comprises  two  large  buildings  of 
brick,  with  stone  trimminu's,  and  it  is  altouether  the  hand- 
somest  mill  structure  on  the  Ilousatonic.  I  should  thiiik 
all  the  dams  at  Housatonic  might  be  carried  by  on  the 
west  side ;  Imt  the}''  are  so  near  together,  and  the  carries 
would  be,  the  first  so  long,  and  all  so  troublesome,  that  it 
is  a  saving  of  time  and  Acxation  to  get  a  team. 

And  now,  without  fear  of  further  obstruction,  we  were 
fairly  on  our  way  to  Great  Barrington.  The  river  seems 
to  pursue  a  diagonal  coarse  over  the  Great  Barrington 
intervale.  We  pulled  as  rapidly  as  possil)le,  as  tlie  shades 
of  evening  were  beginning  to  fall,  and  the  cool  air  was  an 
inducement  to  keep  a-going.  The  sun  after  a  while  dis- 
appeared in  a  cloud  of  fire  behind  the  Taconic  dome 
which  towers  two  thousand  feet  above  the  valley,  leaving 
the  slope  in  view,  a  solemn  mass  (tf  darkest  green,  while 
Monument  Mountain,  at  the  other  end  of  the  valley,  stood 
out  in  a  purplish  glow,  clear  and  distinct  in   the  still  air. 


90 


liOATIXa    //UPS. 


I  it'iiieinber  no  river  scene,  indeed,  ot"  greater  beauty. 
The  stream  itself,  too,  was  very  heautiiul.  The  banks  on 
eitlier  side  sloped  down  to  the  water's  very  edge  of 
smooth  turf,  oft  broken,  however,  by  a  clump  of  trees  or 


cirriw 


masses  (jf  clustering  vines ;  and  we  occasionally  passed  a 
little  inlet,  usually  guarded  by  a  martial  array  of  cat-o*- 
iiine-tails.  Later,  the  water  was  smooth  as  polished  black 
marble,  and  rellected,  with  gloomy  accuracy,  the  dark 
banks  and  the  iloating  boat  whenever  we  ceased  to  row. 
We  came  to  the  tirst  bridge,  Avhich  is  just  above  the  dam 


THE  110  USA  TOXIC  It  1 1  'Eli.  9 1 

at  Great  Barrington,  as  a  tuneful  clock  in  the  village  was 
chiming  the  hour  of  seven.  We  tied  the  boat  fast  near 
the  west  end  of  the  l)ridge,  and  having  stowed  our  lieavy 
baggage  at  a  curious,  old,  rambling,  tumble-down  house 
close  by,  we  found  shelter  at  the  Berkshire  House,  a  very 
substantial  liotel. 

There  is  a  stateliness  and  dignity  about  Great  Barring- 
ton  as  great  in  reality  as  its  high-sounding  name  would 
imply.  It  is  a  rare  combination  of  New-England  thrift 
and  New-York  opulence.  Beecher,  it  is,  I  believe,  who 
once  declared  that  he  never  entered  the  village  without 
wishing  tliat  he  was  never  to  leave  it.  Here  Bryant 
practised  law  before  finally  straying  into  journalism  and 
the  more  congenial  field  of  literature. 

Great  Barrington  is  in  the  midst  of  a  fine  region  for 
drives.  Tlie  road  to  the  top  of  Monument  Mountain  is 
deservedly  in  favor,  while  one  of  the  finest  drives  in 
Berkshire  is  through  North  Egremont,  and  then  by  way 
of  Hillsdale,  a  town  just  over  the  border  of  Massachu- 
setts, in  New  York,  to  Bash-Bish  Falls,  in  Copake.  The 
crest  of  a  hill  just  above  Hillsdale  commands  a  magnifi- 
cent view  of  the  Catskills  and  an  extensive  view  of  the 
Berkshire  hills,  whose  broad  slopes,  blooming  with  culti- 
vation and  beauty,  roll  upward,  in  the  far  distance, 
beyond  a  fertile  expanse  of  territory  where  the  valley  is 
widest. 

There  is   another  way  to   Bash-Bish:    through    South 


92  BOATlXa   TRIPS. 

Ejjremoiit,  and  tlit'iice  over  the  iiioiiiilaiiis :  and  this  is 
perhaps  the  most  picturesqu(>  drive  of  all.  The  view  of 
tlie  Taconic  range,  as  one  goes  westward  over  the  country, 
which  is  comparatively  level,  to  the  foot  of  the  mountains, 
is  especially  fine.  The  Dome  of  Mount  Everett,  alone, 
rt'uiaiiis  unchangeable  u})on  its  huge,  buttress-like  founda- 
tiiin,  as  one  draws  near;  but  elsewhere,  the  mountains 
break,  from  time  to  time,  into  new  and  beautifully  vary- 
ing shapes.  The  view  of  the  Taconics  is  essentially  the 
same  over  the  Hills(hde  load,  but  the  way,  as  one  mounts 
u})ward  through  the  valley  between  the  mountains, 
especially  if  the  day  is  warm,  is,  upon  the  whole,  I'ather 
more  agreeable,  and  very  attractive  withal.  The  music  of 
a  brook  alongside  the  i-oad  at  length  dies  away,  however, 
and  as  you  emerge  from  the  thick  woods,  you  come  upon 
the  now  quite  famous  Goodale  Sky  Farm,  airily  perched 
high  up  on  the  mountain-side,  where  there  is  a  most 
enchanting  view  through  the  verdurous  walls  of  the  long 
valley  up  which  you  liave  just  come,  and  over  a  beautiful 
landscape  l)eyond  to  Greylock,  fifty  miles  distant.  Soon 
thereafter,  the  head  of  the  valley  terminates  upon  the 
tab'.e-land  of  the  town  of  INIount  Washington,  which  is 
surrounded  on  every  side  by  mountain  to})S,  which  peer 
up  here  and  there,  above  the  edges  of  the  plain,  as  if 
they  were  playing  a  game  of  bo-peep. 

Soon  descending,  however,  from  tliis  high  and    charm- 
ing region,  the  delight  of  the  ubicpiitous  summer  boarder, 


THE  IKJUSATOXKJ  lilVEIi.  93 

one  hears  again,  from  amidst  the  shady  recesses  througli 
which  the  road,  for  the  most  ])art,  wanders,  the  accompani- 
ment of  a  running  stream,  oi'  sees  it  tumbling  over  its 
rocky  bed ;  and  opposite  Eagle's  Nest,  just  above  the  head 
of  the  Bash-Bish  ravine,  is  a  superb  view  of  the  towering 
Catskills,  which,  as  one  gazes  through  the  framing  \\alls 
of  the  valley,  rock-ribbed  on  one  side  and  densely  wooded 
on  the  other,  look  in  the  distance,  beyond  the  broad  and 
beautiful  expanse  of  country  intervening,  like  blue  bar- 
riers of  eternity. 

The  name  Bash-Bish,  whicli  was  originally  bestowed 
upon  the  falls  by  the  Indians,  signifies,  it  is  said.  Wild 
Waters.  A  hotel  has  been  built  near  the  foot  of  the  falls, 
at  the  head  of  the  ravine,  which  is  indeed  altogether  a 
delightfully  wild  mountain  nook. 


CHAPTER    III. 

GItKAT    HAKRlX(iTON.  —  KENT. 

Ij^ARLY  Monday  morning  we  carried  tlie  boat  around 
'^~^  tlie  east  end  of  the  dam  of  the  lierkshire  Wdolen 
Mills,    and   put    in   just    below.     We    threaded    our  way 


^.ijir, 


^"^■■''Gflvs:t;,„,foa 


among  the  rocks  under  the  foot-bridge  of  the  mill  and 
a  passenger  bridge  just  below,  and  then  swiftly  drifted 
stern  foremost  througli  a  stretch  of  rapids,  past  a  deserted 


THE  no  I  -,SU  TOXIC  HI  I  ^EE. 


95 


mill  oil  f)iie  side  and  the  houses  of  the  village  opposite. 
The  sun  shining  on  the  turbulent  water  gave  it  the 
ajjpearance  of  molten  lead  in  violent  agitation,  and  it  was 
at  times  difficult,  on  account  of  the  perplexing  glare,  to 
guide  the  boat  aright  among  the  rocks,  though  the  rapid 
is  not  in  the  least  dangerous.     We  soon  came  to  a  bridge 


/-/^-v  .^.. 

■5^^/ 


j2^^- 


in  the  reach  below,  })ulled  up  under  the  west  end  at  seven 
o'clock,  and  leaving  all  the  baggage  in  the  l)oat,  walked  to 
the  hotel,  which  is  at  the  corner  of  Bridge  Street  and 
Main  Street,  for  lu-eakfast.  In  the  History  of  Great  Bar- 
rington,  by  Charles  J.  Taylor,  it  is  stated  that  the  l)ri(lge 
is  eight  hundred  and  forty-five  feet  above  the  level  of  tide- 
water. 


96  liOATIXa    TJil/'S. 

On  our  way  to  the  liotel  we  met  a  man  who  would.  (Jiie 
would  imagine,  have  little  diffiotdty  in  jn-oving  a  mistake 
of  identity  il"  oectasion  retjuii'cd,  as  he  wore  a  heavy 
imperial,  one  half  of  which  was  white  and  the  other  red. 
Six  witnesses  having  looked  at  him  from  one  side  wonld 
swear,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  eorreetly,  that 
he  had  red  whiskers ;  and  another  half  dozen  would  swear 
with  equal  facility  that  they  weie  white.  The  fable  of 
the  knight  of  the  gold  and  silver  shield  might  indeed 
easily  he  replaced,  in  lower  Berkshire  at  any  rate,  by  the 
instance  of  the  man  with  the  red-and-white  imperial. 

A  little  south  of  the  Episcopal  Church  in  the  village  is 
an  old  house,  which  has  l)een  standing  unaltered  for 
nearly  a  century  and  a  half,  '"the  (juaintness  of  its  archi- 
tecture now  presenting"  —  I  (piote  from  an  unknown 
correspondent  —  "  a  strange  and  interesting  contrast  to 
its  modern  neighbors.  In  1777,  (jeneral  Lincoln  and  staff 
were  quartered  in  the  house  for  a  few  days  before  being 
sent  with  the  Massachusetts  troops  to  oppose  Burgoyne's 
advance  from  Crown  Point  upon  Bennington.  Three 
years  later,  in  1780,  it  sheltered  Washington  on  his 
journey  north  from  Hartford.  Within  its  ancient  walls 
William  Cullen  Bryant,  while  practising  law  in  Great 
Barrington,  wooed  and  wed  Miss  Fannie  Faircldld; 
a  union,"'  the  writer  adds,  ''  that  in  every  way  fulfilled  the 
beauty  of  its  })romise."  There,  also,  Bryant  wrote 
Green    River,  A  Walk    at    Sunset,   To    the  West  Wind, 


THE  HO  US  ATONIC  EIVEB.  97 

and  one  of  his  longest  and  most  notable  poems,  delivered 
before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of  Harvard  in  1821, 
the  year  of  his  marriage. 

We  started  again  at  eio'ht  o'clock,  and  funnd  the  uinno- 
remarkably  good,  bnt  as  remarkably  crooked.  Language 
is  indeed  inadequate  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  fantastic 
turnino's  of  the  river.  In  about  an  hour  we  came  in  si^ht 
of  the  Leavitt  Mansion,  on  the  east  bank.  The  river 
swept  by  a})parently,  but  soon  again  turned  to  the  man- 
sion ;  and  then,  after  rambling  about  the  meadows  a  while, 
returned  once  more,  and  then  gliding  under  a  bridge, 
Avhich  is  only  two  miles  from  Great  Barrington,  ap- 
proached the  base  of  a  woody  hill,  and  the  mansion  finally 
disappeared  as  we  pulled  south  through  a  comparatively 
long  reach.  Soon,  however,  the  river  turned  from  the 
mountain  at  a  point  where  the  steep  slope  has  been 
denuded  of  trees,  leaving  exposed  a"  broad  strip  of  rock- 
ribbed  surface,  sharply  defined  at  each  edge  from  base  to 
summit,  liy  dense  green  woods,  —  a  peculiar  transforma- 
tion that  fre([uently  occurs  in  the  valley  below  Falls 
Village,  —  and  began  to  raml)le  once  more  in  the  wide 
intervale. 

By  aiul  by  we  passed  the  motith  of  (ireen  River,  a  stream 
celebrated  in  the  verse  of  Byrant,  Avhich  was  most  appro- 
l)riately  named,  as  its  waters  are  of  a  decided  greenish 
tinge.  The  Housatonic  itself,  transparent  as  air,  reflected 
every  grain  of  sand  and  parti-covered  gravel  and  flowing 


U8  BO  Ansa  riui's. 

weeds  in  the  channel  with  himinous  softness,  except  where 
the  current  slowly  flowed  into  deep  places.  Often  schools 
of  fish  broke  from  under  the  boat,  scattering  in  rays  like 
a  shower  of  arrows.  Trees  lined  the  banks  from  time 
to  time,  and  added  constant  variety  to  the  continually 
varying  course  of  the  river.  It  was  indeed  a  place  in 
which  to  linger ;  but  we  j)ulled  on  at  a  steady  pace,  and 
after  a  while  passed  under  a  red  bridge,  just  below  which 
is  a  little  fall,  and  then  continued  on  to  an  old  wooden 
bridge  that  leads  to  the  north  end  of  Sheffield  Street,  a 
long,  shady  avenue,  with  houses  on  either  side. 

Sheffield  is  indeed  a  handsome  old  town ;  but  it  has  a 
torpid  appearance  as  if  it  were  dozing  under  its  sleepy 
elms.  The  municipality  of  Sheffield,  England,  would,  I 
nave  little  doubt,  pay  a  round  sum,  if  it  could  liave  its 
namesake  transplanted  just  as  it  is  and  set  down  some- 
where in  the  l)usy  region  Avithin  its  corporate  limits.  Be- 
low, the  bed  of  the  stream  was  occasionally  filled  with 
trunks  of  trees  that  sometimes  almost  blocked  up  our  way. 

'A  half-hour's  pull  brought  us  to  another  long,  covered, 
weather-stained  bridge.  The  road  from  the  west  end  leads 
direct  to  the  middle  of  the  village  of  Sheffield  which  is  only 
a  short  distance  away.  Here  we  pulled  up  for  a  while,  and 
my  fellow-voyager,  after  we  had  partaken  of  some  sardines, 
used  the  oil  on  his  boots  and  pronounced  it  good.  The 
river  then  winds  worse  than  ever,  if  it  were  possible,  until 
it  approaches  a  range  of  hills  on  the  east  side  of  the  valley, 


THE  IIOUSATOXIC  J! IV Eli. 


99 


V4li^J?^ 


wlieieoii  are  several  houses,  the  first,  excepting,  perhaps, 
at  rare  intervals  an  isolated  building,  we  had  seen  since 
leaving  Great  Barrington. 

We  pulled  the  hoat  ashore  at  the  -^y^^^l 
end  of  a  reach  under  the  hill  and  at 
one  of  the  farm-houses  had  a  sumptu- 
ous repast  of  rye-bread  and  milk  and 
canned  fresh  beef  we  had  taken  with 
us.  On  returning  to  the  boat  we 
found  in  the  brief  interval  of  our 
absence  an  entire  change  had  come  ^^^ 
over  tlie  face  of  nature.  The  air 
had  been  sultry  before  and  we  had 
had  a  warm  time  rowing  between 
the  liigh  clay-banks  which  are  char- 
acteristic of  the  river  l^elow  Sheffield. 
The  wind  had  suddenly  veered  to  the 
northeast  and  was  cold  and  raw, 
mists  rolled  around  the  top  of  the 
Dome,  and  clouds  were  scudding  furi- 
ously across  the  sky.  We  started  at 
two  o'clock,  and  before  going  a  dozen 
strokes  were  enveloped  in  a  scanty 
sprinkle  of  little  rain-drops,  and  then 
another  until  tlie  rain  poured  in  tor- 
rents and  battered  the  surface  of  the 
river  into  a  long  sheet  of  deep-fretted 


1(J0  jioATixu  rnii's. 

Avater.  We  protected  ourselves  with  rubber  coats  au<l 
pulled  ou,  and  in  about  an  hour  rowed  under  the  road 
l)ridg'e  and  a  railroad  l)ridge  which  cross  the  river 
side  by  side.  The  village  of  Ashley  Falls  is  al)out  a 
uiile  distant  from  the  bridges  on  the  east  baidv.  The 
erratic  river  then  trends  across  the  intervale  in  long 
zigzag  reaches  to  a  group  of  houses  on  the  west  bank. 
The  wet  buildings,  exhibiting  no  signs  of  life,  envel- 
oped in  the  melancholy  haze  of  rain,  looked  dreary  in 
the  extreme.  The  reach,  immediately  below  a  bridge 
that  spans  the  river  just  below  the  grou]»  of  houses,  ends 
against  the  rocky  face  of  a  mountain  spur  that  turns  the 
river  eastward.  The  river  again  approaches  the  mountain 
below,  however,  where  a  rocky  cliff  stands  guard,  and 
above,  a  broad  iield  of  brown  heaf-h,  dotted  with  stones, 
stretches  in  grim  realistic  fashion  to  the  base  of  woods 
that  crown  the  summit.  The  reaches  here  are  all  longer 
and  wider,  and  the  banks,  which  are  (^uite  high,  were  fairly 
ablaze  with  brilliant  autumnal  color.  We  had  often  since 
leaving  Housatonic  pulled  by  an  uncouth  looking  scow, 
lying  against  the  bank,  and  here  we  passed  a  hideous 
looking  craft  which  had  two  names.  ''  The  Old  Sal "'  was 
painted    on    the    stern    and    on    the    side    near    the    bow, 

"The  Great  Eastern,  owned  and  navigated  l)y .;"  an 

odd  vagary  of  fancy.  About  five  o'clock  we  saw  before 
us  the  bridge  of  the  Hartford  and  Connecticut  Western 
Railroad.     Just  above    it    is  a  short   rapid.     We    landed 


TiiK  iior^AToMc  invi':ii.  101 

at  u  farm-house  just  below  the  bridge  on  the  west  bank 
and  walked  to  Canaan,  a  mile  distant  on  the  east  side 
of  the  river,  on  tlie   railroad. 

Canaan  is  a  sort  of  Mugby  Junction.  The  tracks  of 
the  Hartford  and  Connecticut  Western  and  Housatonic 
Railroads  intersect  at  right  angles  at  a  corner  of  the 
station.  There  are  two  hotels  in  tlie  village,  but,  apart 
from  the  noise  of  trains,  Canaan  is  not  a  remarkably  lively 
place. 

We  got  under  way  Tuesday  morning  at  nine  o'clock. 
The  river  flows  deep  and  tranquil  below  the  bridge,  until 
it  has  disappeared  around  the  first  bend,  where  we  glided 
through  a  gently  flowing  rapid.  We  had  passed  a  great 
many  pumpkins  afloat  on  the  river  from  time  to  time 
during  our  morning  row  and  the  day  preceding,  and  we 
had  been  tempted  to  use  one  of  the  grotesque,  dumb  yellow 
mastpies  as  a  sort  of  jack-a-lantern  (U'nament  to  our  prow. 
After  a  while  we  })ulled  under  a  bridge,  and,  as  we  were 
rowing  along  close  to  shore,  we  discovered  at  the  edge  of 
the  water  what  at  lirst  we  supposed  was  the  sloughed  off 
skin  of  a  snake,  and  tlun  the  dead  root  of  a  tree.  It 
turned  out  to  be,  however,  the  crumpled  horns  of  a  skele- 
ton ram's  head.  We  at  once  made  it  fast  to  the  bow,  and 
thenceforward    had    a    weird    and    imposing    figure-head. 

The  river  flows  in  somewhat  regular  long  reaches,  with 
a  smooth  current,  to  Falls  Village.  Twice,  however,  at 
a  stated  interval,  the  river    turns    sharply  almost    north- 


102  BOATING  TllirS. 

ward  before  resuming  its  southward  sweeps.  Mountains 
guard  the  valley  on  either  hand,  but  the  intervale  and 
near  hills  give  evidence  of  careful  cultivation.  We  were 
indeed  passing  through  the  last  intervale  I'egion  on  the 
river.  The  scenery  is  not  so  strikingly  beautiful  as  in  the 
Great  Barrington  ineadows,  Init  the  river  itself  is,  if  it 
were  possible,  more  beautiful.  At  Falls  Village,  liinvever, 
the  mountains  come  close  to  the  river,  and  thereafter 
remain  constant  near  guardians  to  the  end ;  and  the  river 
is,  for  the  most  part,  rough  and  rapid,  foaming  witli  only 
brief   intervals  of  rest  through  narrow  mountain  valleys. 

We  reached  Falls  Village,  which  is  the  gate-way  of  this 
wild  and  lonesome  region,  at  eleven  (j'clock.  The  descent 
of  the  river  from  Pittsfield  to  the  State  line  of  Connecti- 
cut is  two  hundred  and  ninety-five  feet,  while  the  descent 
from  the  State  line  to  Derby  is  six  hundred  and  twelve. 
The  actual  distance  from  Pittsfield  to  the  State  line  is 
about  one  third  the  distance  fiom  Pittsfield  to  tlie  mouth 
of  the  river ;  Init  the  river  in  Massachusetts,  on  account 
of  its  crooked  windings,  is  about  as  long  as  the  river  in 
Connecticut. 

On  account  of  tlie  low  stage  of  the  water,  we  carried 
over  the  rocks  of  the  .  upper  pitch,  of  the  falls  in  the 
middle  of  the  river,  and  then,  rowing  past  the  repair- 
shops  of  tlie  Housatonic  Railroad  on  the  west  bank,  we 
hauled  ashore  just  above  the  railroad  bridge,  and  let  the 
boat  float  along  down  to  the  edge  of   the  principal  fall. 


rilK  llOUSATUXKJ  111 V Ell. 


103 


with  II  cord.  The  river  makes  a  plunge  here  of  thirty  or 
forty  feet,  with  considerable  roar  and  blowing  spray.  We 
then  dragged  the  boat  over  tlie  rocks  a  short  distance  on 
the  west  side,  and  lowered  it  over  a  steep  cliff  to  a  ledge 
below,  where,  by  means  of  a  long  cord  at  the  bow,  and 


another  at  the  stern,  we  let  her  down  to  the  water  at  one 
side  of  the  fall.  We  tried  to  run  the  rapids  below  the 
fall,  but  the  channel  was  narrow  and  strewn  with  rocks, 
and  we,  therefore,  concluded  it  was  the  part  of  discretion 
to  let  the  l)oat  through  with  a  cord,  while  we  walked 
along  the  east  side  of  the  principal  channel  in  the  middle 
of  the  river.     Arriving  at  the  end  of  our  footing,  we  got 


104  lioATixd  Tin  vs. 

into  the  boat  and  ])ulle(l  to  tiie  west  side  of  the  river, 
M'liere  Me  used  the  cord  once  more,  to  get  by  the  third 
piteli.  Our  operations  had  attracted  (juite  a  crowd  on  tlie 
bank,  and  an  entire  district  school,  wdth  the  teacher  at  the 
head,  was  narrowly  observing  every  movement.  My  f'el- 
low-vovao-er  then  took  the  oars,  as  the  water  was  shallow 
and  turbulent,  while  1  walked  along  the  west  shore  and 
awaited  his  coming  under  the  bridge  at  the  village. 

Just  above  the  l)ridge,  the  channel  winds  among  rocks, 
and  the  oarsman,  in  an  endeavor  to  escape  tlie  first  ()ne, 
got  the  oars  out  of  the  row  locks,  and,  before  he  could 
replace  them  to  pull  back,  the  boat  drifted  broadside  on 
a  rock  that  peered  out  of  water  immediately  below, 
careened,  filled;  and  the  water,  rushing  into  the  boat, 
washed  oars,  carpet-bags,  and  all  our  provisions  down 
stream.  The  last  I  saw  of  my  carpet-bag,  it  w^as  placidly 
fioating  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  some  distance  below, 
the  handle  just  out  of  water ;  and  then  the  Avaves  closed 
over  it.  The  oarsman  stepped  on  the  rock  when  the  boat 
began  to  fill,  and,  after  l)reaking  a  paddle,  all  his  further 
efforts  to  keep  her  from  sliding  down  still  deejier  proved 
unavailing,  and  the  boat  finally  lodged  about  a  foot  under 
water,  and  the  current,  rushing  in,  held  her  immovably 
fast.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  strip  and  plunge  in, 
and  after  a  half-hour's  manonivering,  the  boat  was  turned 
over  and  edged  along  to  another  rock,  l)elow,  where  the 
water  poured  against  the  bottom  of  the  boat.     The  long 


THE  HO  I  \SA  TO X/C  HI  I  'A7.'.  1 0 5 

rope  at  the  stern  was  then  cauglit  and  thrown  ashore, 
whereat  a  man  pulled  hard,  and  by  half-inches  at  a  time, 
the  boat  was  hauled  into  the  stream  and  floate<l  over  .  a 
slioi  L  rapid;  and  after  the  water  was  bailed  out  I  put 
back  to  the  rescue  of  my  feIlow-vo3^ager,  who  stood,  to 
the  utter  amazement  of  late  comers  on  the  scene,  after 
the  boat  had  got  wedged  against  the  second  rock  under 
the  l)ridge,  dry  shod  on  the  upper  rock  in  the  middle  of 
the  river  upon  a  rather  precarious  foothold.  On  getting 
to  shore,  he  strip[)ed  to  unmentionables  also,  and  l)y 
repeated  divings  rescued  all  our  canned  goods,  which 
glittered  in  the  deep  water  just  below  the  place  of  the 
overtui'u.  Then  keeping  on  down  stream  with  one 
rescued  oar,  we  fished  our  carpet-bags  out  of  the  stream 
below,  and  picked  n}»  tlie  othci-  articles  a  boy  had  rescued 
and  left  on  the  bank,  and  started  on  down  river  in  search 
of  the  missing  oar.  We  eventually  missed,  besides  the 
ram's  head,  onl}'  a  few  things  of  no  great  value.  We 
passed  through  three  reaches  of  swift  water,  and  then 
came  to  a  wide,  open  bay,  where,  two  hours  after  the 
accident  occurred,  we  found  the  oar  imbedded  in  weeds. 
We  had  been  induced,  by  the  low  stage  of  the  water,  to 
try  the  falls,  and  naturally  were  somewhat  })rovoked  after 
getting  by  the  three  up2)er  pitches,  which  are  really  dilli- 
cult.  —  I  doubt  very  much  indeed  whether  they  were  ever 
attempted  before.  —  to  get  wrecked  on  u  eouple  of  jialtry 
rocks  at  the  very  end.     It   is   no   doubt    much  better   to 


100  r,<>.\T!\<i  riiips. 

land  above  tlic  first  pitch  on  the  west  si(h>  at  a  solitary 
barn,  and,  indeed,  quite  ]ieeessary,  I  may  say,  as  the 
water  is  seldom  lower  than  when  we  took  our  trip,  and 
get  a  team  to  carry  you  over  the  l)ridge  below  the  lower 
pitch  to  the  east  shore,  where  it  is  an  easy  task  to  launch 
a  l)oat  in  good  water. 

The  scenery  below  Falls  Village,  especially  just  above 
and  below  Lime  Rock  Bridge,  is  wild  and  grand.  A 
range  of  mountains  with  a  very  ragged  edge  stretches 
away  from  the  river  on  the  west,  while  mountains  cov- 
ered with  green  woods  slope  U])  from  the  river  on  the 
east.  The  village  of  Lime  Rock  is  a  mile  from  the  west 
end  of  the  bridge,  and,  it  is  said,  contains  several  fine 
residences,  among  others,  that  of  the  Hon.  W.  H.  Barnum 
of  State  and  national    reputation. 

As  we  journeyed  on  we  saw  many  brilliant  sunset 
effects  on  the  mountains  along  the  east  side  of  the  nar- 
row valley.  Now,  upon  a  dark  green  slope  was  outlined, 
in  bright  yellow  sunshine,  the  form  of  one  mountain  ridge 
on  the  west  side  of  the  valley,  and  then  again,  another. 
I  remember  distinctly  how  the  upper  part  of  one  long 
ridge  was  gilded  with  brilliant,  almost  dazzling  light,  while 
all  the  valley  below  was  filled  with  intense,  deep,  sombre 
hues;  and  we  often  saw  the  sun  rise  and  set  over  the 
sloping  western  ridges.  The  river,  most  of  the  time, 
pours  along  over  fretted  stones ;  and  the  scenes,  as  night 
closed  in,  were  extremely  wild,  almost  Aveird.     The  moun- 


THE  llOUSATONW  BIVElt.  1()7 

tain  ranges  were,  for  tlie  most  part,  covered  with  trees, 
but  occasionally  a  mountain  had  l)een  stripped  hare,  and 
the  naked  granite  looked  desolate  and  dreary  in  the 
extreme.  We  often  saw  a  strip  of  bare  waste  girdling  a 
slope  where  wood-choppers  were  still  at  work,  and  fre- 
quently, near  at  hand  or  afar  off  down  the  valley,  per- 
liaps  close  to  a  mountain  summit,  the  flowing  smoke  (»f 
a  charcoal  pit;  and  when  night  added  brilliancy  to  tlie 
glow  of  tlie  tires  that  flamed  here  ;ind  there  on  the  dark 
slopes,  it  seemed  as  if  one  were  in  the  midst  of  one  of 
Grimm's  tales,  in  a  land  of  dragons  and  gnomes. 

About  seven  o'ch^ck,  we  saw  the  twinklina*  lights  of 
West  Cornwall,  a  decided  misnomer,  as  the  village  is  on 
the  east  side  of  the  river,  and  we  made  fast  just  al)ove  the 
dam.  We  found  refuge  at  the  Mansion  House,  where  we 
were  long  occupied,  both  before  and  after  supper,  in  hang- 
ing our  wet  clothes  on  a  dryer  in  the  kitchen,  and  were 
often,  1  fear,  in  the  way  of  two  young,  and  pretty,  and 
remarkably  lively  stepping  dames  of    tlie  domain. 

Our  shipwreck  had  opened  the  seams  of  the  boat  con- 
siderably, and  before  embarking  next  morning,  we  were 
engaged,  an  hour  or  more,  in  filling  them  with  cotton 
batting  and  putty.  While  at  work,  a  man  told  us  aliout 
a  trip  that  three  canoeists  from  Iioston  had  made  down 
the  river  the  previous  year,  and  pointed  out  the  shed  in 
which  they  had  stored  their  boats  over  night.  We  had 
heard  of  the  party  from  the  proprietor  of  the  Berkshire 


108 


Hi) All \( I    TUIl'S. 


House  lit  Great  Barriugton  ;  hut  whether  they  succeeded 
in  getting  through,  I  know  not,  although  we  heard  of 
them  once  afterward  at  New  Milford.  We  got  under  way 
at  ten  (/'clock.  Just  above  the  In'idge  is  a  low  apron  dam. 
\\v  landed  toward  the  east  end,  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  had 
lowered  the  l)oat  over  the  (him  and  were  l)nm})ing  through 


^^''':^f"-*^?i^ 


'*'''°'^''*bJe^i^*?|^/'/  ^' 


the  rapids  below.  We  were  obliged  to  stand  up  and  push 
with  the  oars,  when  opposite  the  shears  factory,  and  then 
were  hurried,  by  the  swift  water,  between  two  mountains 
that  sprang  from  the  water's  edge  on  either  side,  toward  a 
shallow  rapid,  which,  however,  we  ran  without  difiticulty. 
The  scenery  was  quite  wild  and  picturesque,  the  road 
along  the  west  shore  alone  giving  a  hint  that  the  i)lace 
was  in  reach  of  civilization. 


THE  HO  USA  TOXIC  HI  VEIL  109 

We  soon  came  to  other  shallow  places,  however,  where 
Ave  had  hard  work  to  get  through.  One  great  cause  of 
difficulty  was  occasioned  by  fish-ways,  which  were  made 
up  of  stones  heaped  in  a  long  line,  usually  in  a  diagonal 
direction  from  shore  to  shore.  If  we  went  thi-ongh 
the  upper  end  we  were  (j^uite  sure  to  be  stuck  on 
shallows;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  we  followed  the  deeper 
water  along  the  upper  side  of  the  way  to  the  lower  (Mid. 
there  was  no  opening  and  we  had  to  lift  tlie  boat  over 
the  stones.  Sometimes,  however,  we  found  an  opening 
in  the  wall  where  we  could  shove  through.  Tlie  river 
was  often  filled  with  huge  rocks,  and  in  a  few  places  the 
channel  was  very  narrow  and  the  water  poured  tlirough 
in  a  ra[)id  fall.  At  the  worst  places  we  turned  the  boat 
around  and  went  through  stern  foremost.  Going  through 
in  this  way  we  were  enabled,  even  where  the  water  was 
very  swift  and  violent,  to  pull  back'  and  keep  the  boat 
steady  until  we  had  selected  the  best  course.  Much  of 
the  time  one  or  the  other  of  us  walked  along  the  shore. 
We  had  indeed  altogether  rather  a  tedious  forenoon 
journey,  and  were  tln-ee  hours  in  getting  to  Cornwall 
Bridge,  a  distance  of  five  miles.  There  is  i\\\\tQ  a  high 
fish-way  obstruction  just  above  the  bridge  at  Cornwall 
Bridge,  and  we  had  considerable  trouble  in  getting  past. 
We  often  wished,  indeed,  that  the  river  was  a  foot  higher. 
The  water,  however,  as  if  to  make  some  comjiensation, 
was  pure  and  transparent  as  crystal. 


110  BOATING   TJUI'S. 

Below  the  bridge  was  another  long  stretch  of  shallow 

water,    where    my   fellow-voyager,    alone    in    the    boat, 

exercised   his  ingenuity  to  the    utmost    to    get    through. 

In  the  next  rapid  we    had  no  difficulty,  as    the  channel 

was  comparatively  narrow,  and  we  rushed  tln-ough  in  fine 

style.     We  pulled  up  on  the  east  sliore,  where  the  back 

water    curled  around    to  the  foot  of   the  rapid  and  in  a 

sheltered  nook  enjoyed  a  lunch  after   our  long  fast  and 

hard  labor,  and  were  again  under  way  at  three  o'clock. 

The  going  continued    to  improve,  and  we  soon  came  to 

Boardman's  Bridge.     The  road  from  the   east  end  leads 

to  Cornwall  Bridge  and  the  west  to  Sharon.     Below  we 

ran  aground  two  or  three  times,  but  the  river  was  less 

rapid  and  the  country  not  quite  so  wild.     After  a  while 

the  river  was  divided   into  several  channels  b}^  graceful 

islands,  and  the  shadows  of  evening  began  to  fall  upon 

the 

•'  Many-c'oloi-'d  woods. 
Shade  deep'niny  over  shade,  tlie  country  round 
luibrown;  crowded  umbrage,  (Uisk,  and  dun, 
Of  every  hue,  from  wan  declhiiug  green 
To  sootj'  dark.'' 

And  then  again  the  fires  of  charcoal  pits  illuminated 
mountain  slopes  near  and  remote,  and  it  seemed  as  if  we 
were  sailing  through  some  vast,  mysterious  region  of 
witchcraft.  We  still  piu-sued  our  way  in  smooth  water, 
however,  with  some  confidence.  By  and  by,  we  passed 
the  houses  of  Alder  City,  on  the  Avest  bank,  whose  lights 


THE  no  us.  I  TOXIC  HI  I  'EH.  Ill 

twinkled  cheerfully  under  the  black  shadow  of  the  Scata- 
cook  Mountains,  and,  upon  inquiry  l)y  hallooing,  learned 
that  we  were  two  miles  from  Kent,  our  intended  stopping- 
place.  Pursuing  our  wa}'  in  the  Egyptian  darkness,  we 
cautiously  ap})roached  a  huge  misshapen  object  in  our 
course,  which  proved  to  l)e  a  catamaran.  We  had  before 
heard  a  noise  like  an  unearthly  groan,  repeated  at  brief 
regular  intervals,  and  could  then  hear  the  water  pouring 
over  the  dam;  so  Ave  kept  along  tlie  east  shore,  and  landed 
as  close  to  the  dam  as  we  dared  go.  Stumlding  along  the 
road,  attracted  by  a  feeling  of  curious  horror  toward  the 
dreadful  moaning,  we  saw,  in  front,  a  furnace,  belching 
flame  and  sparks  from  the  chimney,  and  a  wing  of  the 
building  aglow  with  the  lurid,  bright  glare  of  a  casting. 
We  found  that  the  groaning  was  due  to  a  water-wheel  and 
wind  suction  pump  that  supplied  the  furnace  with  air. 
It  was  easy,  indeed,  for  a  moment,  however,  upon  arrival, 
to  imagine  one's  self  in  Hades.  We  left  our  baggage  in 
charge  of  the  foreman,  and  walked  half  a  mile  down  the 
track  to  the  Elmore  House  in  Kent. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

KENT. STKATFOHD. 

"TTTE  luul  little  opportunity  to  see  Kent,  but  it  had 
'  all  the  dignity  of  an  eminently  respectable  New- 
England  village,  in  the  quiet  air  of  early  morning,  as  we 
left  it  still  asleep  on  (nu-  way  to  the  Ijoat.  We  carried  the 
boat  around  the  dam  on  a  wheelbarrow,  and,  relying  upon 
the  statement  of  a  workman,  put  the  l)oat  in  the  tail-race, 
and,  having  loaded  tlie  l)aggage,  embarked  ourselves. 
The  race  was  narrow  and  the  current  swift,  and  the  boat 
got  athwart  the  stream  under  a  low-lying,  projecting  tree 
and  filled,  and  all  the  baggage  was  washed  out  and  got 
wet.  Furthermore,  after  getting  righted,  we  found  that 
the  race  at  the  end  expanded  into  shallows,  —  which, 
however,  had  never  lieen  the  case  before,  —  that  would 
liave  made  a  carry  necessary  in  any  event ;  so  Ave  were 
not  at  all  obliged  to  our  informant.  We  easily  rescued 
everything,  however,  including  a  can  of  julienne  soup. 
We  were  continually  reserving  the  julienne  for  a  choice 
occasion,  but  after  losing  it  in  both  our  overturns,  we 
carried  it  tlie  length  of  the  river,  and,  sad  to  relate, 
brought  it  home  unused.  However,  we  finally  got  under 
way  about  ten  o'clock,  and  soon  pulled  under  the  bridge 
at  Kent,  which  will,  T  doubt  not,  be  a  better  structure 
hereafter,  as  it  was  undergoing  repairs. 


THE  HO  USA  TONIC  EIVEB.  113 

The  river  banks  are  soniewliat  more  open  below  Kent. 
On  the  east  side,  indeed,  was  quite  a  stretch  of  intervale. 
The  reaches  v.ere  long  and  graceful,  and  it  was  very 
delisrhtful  rowino-  in  the  clear  air  of  an  autumn  morning. 
The  trees  were  flaming  in  gorgeims  colors,  the  maples, 
most  brilliant  of  all,  fairly  ablaze  with  crimson  and  gold. 
The  shrubbery  was  usually  very  gay,  and,  most  l)eautiful 
of  all,  the  vines  of  various  colors  creeping  around  the 
trunks  oi  trees.  The  soft  haze  of  an  Indian  sunnner  was 
on  the  hills,  and  the  air  was  deliciously  cool.  We  arrived 
above  the  upper  pitch  of  Bull's  Falls  at  twelve  o'clock, 
and  landed  on  the  east  shore  wliere  we  luckily,  at  once, 
found  a  team  to  transpcn't  us  around.  Bull's  Falls  is  not 
a  very  large  place.  There  is  a  store,  one  white  house,  and 
two  or  three  red  ones.  A  survey  of  the  Housatonic  was 
made  last  year  for  the  purpose  of  determining  tlie  avail- 
ability of  the  river  as  a  source  from  which  to  increase  tlie 
water  supply  of  the  city  of  New  York,  and  the  report 
was,  1  l)elieve,  favorable,  and  contemplated  the  lo(;ation  of 
a  great  reservoir  at  Bull's  Falls. 

A  friend  of  the  writer,  who,  in  company  with  another, 
had  naviofated  the  river  in  a  small  skiff,  in  the  third  week 
of  July,  1879,  and  unfortunately  suffered  shipwreck  at 
Lover's  Leap  below,  said  he  ran  the  first  pitch  of  Bull's 
Falls,  though  it  was  the  worst  place  he  passed  through  on 
the  river,  and  added,  in  a  list  of  directions  which  we 
found  very  useful,  in  a  somewhat  humorous  tone :  ''  The 


114  BOATING  TJUI'S. 

loAver  pitcli  is  truly  terrific,  and  is  best  seen  from  the 
bridge.  Tlie  river  pours  down  u  ledge  to  a  dejjtli  so  great 
that  everytliing  below  seems  dwarfed  in  the  awful  abyss." 
The  river  j)Ours  through  a  very  narrow  cliannel  of  rocks 
at  an  angle  of  about  forty-five  degrees,  and  finds  rest 
before  again  plunging  onward  in  a  pond  beliind  a  deserted 
dam  just  below  the  bridge.  We  rode  a  mile  and  a  half, 
and  then,  at  a  place  where  the  road  approached  tlie  river, 
launclied  the  boat  within  siglit  of  Gaylord's  Bridge.  We 
paid  for  the  transportation  of  ourselves  and  boat,  seventy- 
five  cents.  We  backed  the  boat  through  a  bad  stretch  of 
rapids  under  the  bridge,  and  thence  made  good  progress 
on  our  way  to  New  Milford.  A  white  church  with  a 
square  tower,  on  a  little  elevation  on  the  west  side  of  the 
bridge,  continued  in  view  (^nite  a  long  time,  a  prominent 
picturesque  object,  like  a  churcli  in  a  picture.  Wliile 
rowing  along,  Ave  came  upon  a  flock  of  ducks  in  a  cove, 
which,  perhaps  luckily  for  them  and  perhaps  fortunately 
for  us,  proved  to  be  tame,  as  they  came  within  range. 

Hitherto,  our  course  from  Falls  Village  had  been  in 
a  wild,  rough,  mountainous  region.  I  doubt,  indeed, 
whether  we  passed  through  a  ndle  of  country,  in  all, 
that  could  be  considered  intervale,  and  a  cultivated  field 
was  about  as  rare  as  intervale.  We  had  mountains,  rocks, 
trees,  and  a  river  that  every  few  hundred  feet  was  a  foam- 
ing rapid.  There  is,  indeed,  an  almost  endless  series  of 
unused  water  privileges  on  the  Housatonic,  easily  capable. 


THE  HO U:< ATOXIC  lUVEIl.  115 

it  "would  seem,  of  being  improved.  It  was,  tlierefore,  a 
relief  to  find  the  encircling  mountains  give  way,  and  a 
broad  open  tract  of  country  gradually  disclosing  itself 
before  us  as  we  drew  near  New  Milford.  Rounding  a 
bend,  we  saw  the  houses  of  the  village  scattered  over  the 
side  of  a  hill,  looking,  at  a  distance,  much  like  a  toy 
village.  We  were  quite  puzzled,  for  a  time,  to  discover 
the  use  of  several  barrels  painted  white  and  apparently 
located  as  beacons  along  the  river ;  but,  as  we  pulled 
ashore  below  the  bridge,  we  found  a  small  paddle-wheel 
steamer,  not  much  larger  tlian  a  row-boat,  at  anchor,  and 
we  inferred  that  they  were  planted  to  aid  it  in  navigating 
the  broad  and  placid  shallows  opposite  the  town. 

NcAv  Milford  is  the  centre  of  trade  for  a  large  district, 
and  it  is  very  active  and  thriving.  All  the  villages  above 
are  small  —  mere  settlements ;  and  the  nearest  villao;es 
below,  on  the  river,  are  Derby  and  Birmingham,  which 
are  twenty-eight  miles  distant.  The  predominance  of 
English  names  in  the  valley  of  the  Housatonic  is  very 
noticeable.  We  stopped  at  the  -  New  England  House,  a 
hotel  where  the  white-haired  landlord  is  exceed! Kgl}-  jolly, 
luncli  is  always  on  the  table,  and  the  fare  is  excellent. 

We  pushed  off  at  seven  o'clock  next  morning.  The 
river  was  enveloped  in  a  thick  mist.  We  kept  close  to 
the  east  shore,  and  soon  heard  the  water  pouring  over  a 
low  dam  whicli  is,  perhaps,  half  a  mile  below  the  bridge. 
We  passed  the  mouth  of  the  canal  that  leads  to  the  mill, 


116  llOATIXU    TliU'S. 

wliicli  we  had  Ixhmi  wariicd  to  avoid,  and  landed  at  the 
east  end  oi'  the  dam  and  earried  the  boat  over  a  conven- 
ient rocky  ledge,  and  then,  liolding  her  by  the  cord,  let 
her  lloat  through  the  short  ra})ids  l)elo\v.  While  thus 
en<rau:cd,  we  found  a  half  dozen  large  eels  that  had  Ijeeri 
caught  in  a  trap  at  the  end  oi"  a  lish-way.  There  are  so 
many  lish-ways  on  the  river,  however,  that  I  should  think 
the  catch  everywhere  must  ordinarily  be  small. 

Pulling  under  the  railroad  bridge  below,  wliere  the 
Housatonic  Railroad  crosses  the  river  for  the  last  time,  we 
continued  on  in  tlie  ndddle  of  the  stream.  The  readies 
were  wdde  and  long,  and  the  trees  on  either  side  loomed 
vaguely  through  the  dissolving  mist,  like  gigantic  ghosts. 
We  had  been  api)r()aching  a  mountain  range  directly  in 
our  path,  and  after  about  an  hour's  pull,  v/e  saw  before  us 
the  dreaded  Lover's  Leap  where  the  river  makes  its  way 
through  a  wild  gorge.  On  the  right  bank,  just  above,  is 
the  mouth  of  the  Danbury  River,  crossed  by  a  brown 
bridge.  There  is  a  fall  of  tw^elve  or  fifteen  feet  in  the 
Housatonic  just  above  the  gorge,  and  a  bridge  crosses  the 
river,  just  below  the  fall,  at  the  entrance  of  the  chasm. 
Between  the  fall  in  the  middle  of  the  river  and  the  east 
end  of  the  bridge  is  a  ledge  of  rocks,  and  between  this 
ledge  and  the  shore  is  the  narrow  channel  of  a  fish-way. 
We  had  come  to  consider  Lover's  Leap  as  the  critical 
point  of  our  voyage,  for  the  friend  who  had  supplied  us 
wdth  directions  had  been  compelled  to  abandon  his  trip  at 


THE  HO  USA  TOXIC  lllVK}!. 


117 


this  point,  and  he  said:  "I  cannot  exaggerate  the  difficul- 
ties of  Lover's  Leap.  The  boat  cannot  be  taken  out  of 
tiie  stream,  for  the  banks  are  enormously  high  and  steep 
where   they  are  not  mere    cliffs.     Furthermore,  there    is 


no  road  over  the  mountain,  and  you  will  see  that  it  is  too 
liigh  to  take  a  boat  over.  The  lish-way  runs  between  two 
flat  ledges,  from  one  of  which  rises  the  cliff;  the  other  is 
out  in  the  stream,  and  cannot  be  reached.  The  only  way 
to  reach  the  one  next  to  shore  is  to  climl)  the  bank   where 


118  liOATIMl    TJtIPS. 

the  bare  rock  begins.  1  tried  to  go  along  the  base  of  the 
cliff,  and  narrowly  esca[)e(l  drowning.  I  then  climbed 
down  the  bare  cliff  to  tlie  ledge,  no  easy  or  safe  job.'" 
The  river  nmst  have  been  very  high  at  the  time  he 
atteni})ted  to  get  thi'uugli.  He  said,  indeed,  that  "the 
water  foamed  in  the  fish-way  as  if  it  would  pull  the  ring 
and  staple  out  of  the  boat."  The  friend  who  was  with  liini 
undertook  to  lower  the  boat  with  the  painter  through  the 
fish-way  from  above,  so  that  he  could  reach  her,  staiiding 
on  the  ledge  below.  The  rope  unluckily  proved  too  short, 
and  ihe  boat  rushed  by  and  was  sAvamped  on  a  huge 
boulder  at  the  end  of  the  way.  He  added:  "Down  the 
gorge  all  is  plain ;  but  at  the  lower  end  are  ominous 
breakers,  of  which  I  know  nothing,  and  they  might  drown 
you,  i'.fter  all,  for  all  I  can  tell."  We  landed  on  the  outer 
ledge  and  found  the  fish-way  merely  a  trickling  rill.  We 
made  a  fire  in  a  very  convenient  cavity  on  the  outer  ledge 
and  had  the  standard  repast  of  the  camper-out,  beefsteak, 
roasted  potatoes,  and  coffee.  While  breakfasting,  we 
glanced,  from  time  to  time,  down  through  the  gorge 
where  we  could  see  the  "  ominous  breakers  "  at  the  end, 
and  get  a  glimpse  of  the  country  beyond,  too,  like  a  haven 
of  rest,  open,  peaceful,  and  smiling. 

We  lowered  the  boat  over  the  rocks  beside  the  fall 
without  any  trouble,  and,  embarking  just  below,  passed 
under  the  bridge  A\'hich  crosses  the  river  high  in  air,  and 
entered  the  Ausable-like  chasm.     It  is,  indeed,  a  wikl  and 


THE  JfO  USA  TOXKJ  HI  VER.  119 

lonesome  place,  full  of  rugged  beauty.  The  rivi'v  is,  how- 
ever, comparatively  smooth,  except  that  there  are  two 
ra])ids  at  the  very  end  of  tlie  gorge.  We  might  easily 
have  run  the  first,  but  instead,  lowered  the  boat  through 
on  tlie  west  side  with  the  cord.  The  other  rapid  we 
avoided  by  guiding  the  boat  through  shallow  channels  on 
the  east  side.  As  you  emerge  from  the  chasm,  cliffs  tower 
abrupt!}^  from  the  water  at  each  side.  The  rugged  clift 
on  the  west  side  is  covered  with  a  scanty  growth  of  trees, 
while  the  other  is  a  bare,  rocky  steep,  crowned  with  a 
dead  pine,  which  enhances  its  desolate  appearance.  The 
river  below  spreads  out  in  quite  a  wide  basin  called  the 
Cove.  The  view  of  tlie  Leap  given  is  from  the  l(«wer 
end,  looking  north. 

We  had  supposed  that,  below  the  gorge,  we  should 
have  smooth,  deep  water  and  level  country.  We  found, 
howevei',  instead,  that  the  liver  was  rapid  and  stormy,  and 
ran  through  a  valley,  l)etween  mountains,  amid  scenery 
(piite  as  wild  and  grand  as  above  New  Milford.  We 
occasionally  came  across  a  troublesome  shallow  place, 
and  often  the  inevitable  tish-way,  where  we  invariably 
had  an  interchange  of  opinion  as  to  the  best  course  to 
take.  The  going  was  very  good,  however,  for  the  most 
[)art.  After  rowing  nearly  three  hours,  we  saw  a  board 
nailed  to  a  tree  at  the  edge  of  a  thick  woods  on  the  west 
bank,  and,  drawing  near,  found  that  it  was  a  memorial, 
marking  the  place  where  a  young  man  had  l)een   found 


120         '  lioATiM!  ■nni's. 

dead.  Not  far  lu'low,  wc  [Milled  up  (ui  the  west  shore 
where  a  brook  trickled  into  the  ri\-er  at  the  edge  of  a 
gravelly  point,  and  had  our  nud-(hiy  lunch.  Imniediately 
l)eh)W  the  point  is  a  shaUow  fall,  and  then  a  bridge. 
Rowing"  on,  we  came,  in  a  little  less  than  an  h(Mir,  to  the 
bridge  of  the  Shepaug  Railroad,  which  crosses  the  stream 
at  a  lonely  place.  We  })assed  through  a  long  stretch  of 
rapids  above  and  below  the  bridge,  and  then  pulling 
around  a  very  pretty  bend  bordered  along  the  west  side 
with  trees,  we  came  to  a  low  dam  which  we  passed  at  the 
west  end.  Then  followed  swdft  currents  and  rapids. 
The  river,  by  and  by,  made  a  sharp  turu  eastward,  run- 
ning on  the  lower  side  along  a  finely  curving  wM)oded 
slope.  The  river  continued  to  follow  the  spur  of  the 
mountain  until  it  seemed  to  flow  almost  north,  and  then 
debouched  into  a  small,  open  valley,  a  place  quite  as  beau- 
tiful as  an}'  we  saw  on  the  trip.  The  river,  as  if  relieved 
after  its  continual  fretting  over  rocks,  murmurs  pure  and 
limpid  over  a  gravelly  bed  in  a  charming  little  intervale, 
wdiile  two  large,  white,  comfortable  looking  houses  on  the 
north  shore  attest  an  appreciation  of  the  charms  of  the 
little  valley.  At  the  end  of  the  reach  below,  just  above 
an  island,  is  a  ford  Avhere  we  saw  a  horse  drawing  a 
wagon  and  splashing,  with  slow  contentment,  through 
the  shallow  water.  At  the  extreme  end  of  the  same 
reach  is  the  truss  bridge-  of  the  New  York  and  New 
England   Railroad,  which,  perched   on   lofty  stone    piers. 


TUK  no  is  ATOXIC  lllVKU.  121 

Spans  the  river  like  an  aerial  spider's  web.  The  river 
below  flows  rapidly  around  a  perfectly  curving  wooded 
bank.  A  few  minutes  after  six  o'clock,  we  came  to 
Bennett's  Bridge,  where  an  island  divides  the  river  and 
l)ridge.  We  pvdled  under  the  eastern  section  and,  land- 
inu'  on  the  gravel  shore  below,  found  shelter  at  the  l)oard- 
ing-house  of  H.  M.  Post. 

We  started  next  morning  at  seven  o'clock,  and  found 
the  river  about  as  usual,  only  the  reaches  were  longer 
and  broader,  and  the  distance  from  rapid  to  rapid  a  little 
farther,  while  mountains  still  bordered  the  narrow  valley 
on  every  side.  We  also  got  stuck  two  or  three  times  in 
shallow  places.  We  reached  Zoar's  Bridge,  where  a  very 
handsome  chain  suspension  bridge  spans  the  river,  about 
ten  o'clock.  Then,  after  passing  through  several  rapids 
Adhere  the  full  current  ran  delightfully  swift  in  narrow 
channels,  we  came  to  the  head  of  a  long  pond  formed  by 
the  Derby-Birmingham  dam  which  sets  the  water  back 
i)etween  six  and  seven  miles.  Here  we  encountered  a 
violent  southwest  wind,  and  were  glad  to  keep  under 
tlie  lee  of  mountains  A\'herever  they  afforded  protection. 
The  scenery  about  the  pond  is  essentially  the  same  as 
along  the  river,  embracing  principally  mountains,  woods, 
and  water.  There  is,  however,  some  cultivated  land,  and 
a  few  houses  are  scattered  along  the  shores.  The  pond  is 
comparatively  narrow,  gradually  widening,  however,  as 
3a^u  approach  tlie  end :  and,  as  we  rounded  tlie  last  bend. 


122  liOATINd   TRIPS. 

a  niagiiilicent  broad  expanse  of  water  stretched  before  us 
to  the  dam.  Beyond  the  gate-house  on  the  west  side  rises 
the  tall  brick  tower  of  the  Derby  mills,  and  a  few  scatter- 
ing houses  are  visible  on  the  high  ground  on  both  sides 
below.  There  is  a  lock  at  the  gate-house,  but  the  keeper 
was  not  at  hand  and  we  had  no  time  to  hunt  him  up, 
so  we  pulled  to  the  east  end  of  the  dam  and  there  made  a 
portage.  A  wide,  deep,  unused  canal  leads  off  from  the 
east  end  of  the  dam,  over  which  we  carried  the  Ixjat  on  a 
narrow  stone  walk  on  the  east  side  of  the  gate-house. 

The  dam  is  a  very  imposing  structure  of  stone,  twenty- 
two  feet  high,  with  the  lower  face  nearly  jierpendicular. 
It  is  six  hundred  and  thirty-seven  feet  long,  in  the  form 
of  a  curve,  which  is  fifty  feet  deep,  with  the  concave  side 
facing  down  stream.  In  a  liistory  of  Derby  I  find  a  state- 
ment that  the  trembling  sound  of  the  water  pouring  over 
the  dam,  when  the  river  is  full,  has  been  observed  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  city  of  New  Haven,  a  distance,  in  a 
direct  line,  of  over  eight  miles.  There  is  a  lock  on  the 
west  bank,  just  above  the  Derby  mills,  between  the  canal 
and  river.  The  Ijank  l^elow  is  lined  with  mills  to  the 
bridge,  while  on  the  east  side  below  the  bridge  are  the 
factories  and  houses  of  Birmingham,  which  is  located  on 
a  tongue  of  land  between  the  Housatonic  and  Naugatuck 
Rivers.  The  river  forms  quite  a  basin  immediately  below 
the  bridge,  and  several  schooners,  at  wharves,  and  a 
sharpy,  darting  here  and  there,  warned  us  of  (Uir 
a])proaeh    to    the    sea. 


THE  11 0  USA  TONIC  111  VEli.  1 2  o 

We  began  our  last  pull  on  the  river  about  two  o'clock. 
We  kept  close  to  the  west  shore,  under  the  shelter  of 
mountainous  wooded  slopes,  whenever  it  was  possible, 
to  avoid,  us  far  as  we  could,  the  wind,  which  was  fiercely 
blowing.  The  tide,  luckil}',  was  with  us.  Still  our  progress 
was  slow.  The  river  is  several  hundred  feet  wide,  and  the 
reaches  very  picturesque.  The  shore  was  rocky  and  wooded 
almost  all  the  way  to  Stratford.  We  occasionally  pulled  by 
a  little  l)each  ensconced  between  rocks,  and  sometimes  an 
open  space  wherein  a  house  was  prettily  located.  A  fence 
projecting  into  the  stream  often  compelled  us  to  make 
a  brief  detour,  and  by  and  by  we  passed  little  Heets  of 
moored  dories,  and  huge  reels  in  sheltered  coves,  and 
many  a  line  camping  ])lace,  of  which,  liowever,  there  had 
been  no  lack  all  along  the  river.  There  were  marshes 
here  and  there,  and  yet,  although  we  were  so  near  the 
sea,  and  the  tide  was  running  strong,  the  water  was  fresh. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  we  saw  a  long  way  off  do\\"n  river, 
over  a  wide  expanse  of  water  beyond  a  marsh,  the  liigh 
crossed  framework  of  a,  long  bridge  outlined  against  the 
sky,  and  the  spires  of  Stratford.  The  l)anks  wvve  dark 
and  sombre,  tlie  water  in  the  channel  a  raging  mass  of 
white  caps,  while  lieavy  clouds  rent  and  torn  by  the 
furious  wind  were  scudding  along  above,  lighted  with  the 
gorgeous  and  continually  changing  hues  of  a  ])rilliant 
sunset,  the  entire  scene  resembling  very  much  a  sullen 
and  angry  Turnerc 


124  BOATING  TRIPS. 

We  pulled  iiruler  the  truss  bridge  of  the  New  York  and 
New  Haven  Railroad  about  six  o'clock.  We  continued 
on,  however,  to  the  Washington  toll-bridge  just  below, 
on  tlie  old  [)()st  route  from  Boston  to  New  York,  which, 
it  is  said,  derives  its  name  from  the  fact  that  Washington 
marched  over  it  when  on  his  way  to  New  York  after  the 
liritish  evacuated  Boston.  There  is  a  hotel  at  the  east 
end  of  the  bridge.  The  river  below  the  toll-bridge  flows 
})ast  the  L(nver  Dock  at  Stratford,  as  it  is  called,  and  then 
a  mile  further  in  a  magnificent  wide,  semi-circular  swee}) 
between  level  marshes  to  the  sea.  The  mouth  of  the  river 
is  guarded  on  the  eastern  side  by  Milford  Point,  where 
there  is  a  hotel,  and  on  the  west  by  a  light-liouse.  The 
town  of  Milford  is  on  the  east  bank,  but  the  village  is 
three  miles  from  the  bridge.  Stratford  is  on  the  west 
side,  about  a  mile  from  the  river.  It  is  a  large  old- 
fashioned  village  with  wide,  lambling,  well-shaded  streets. 
Many  of  the  houses  are  covered  with  long,  wide  shingles, 
and  the  windows  are  filled  with  the  small  panes  of  glass 
anciently  in  vogue.  There  is  no  factory  in  the  village 
and  no  hotel.  It  is,  therefore,  as  one  would  naturally 
suppose,  a  very  quiet  place,  and  it  has  a  quaint  and 
extremely  conservative  air,  which  the  modern  houses 
cannot  dispel.  Bridgeport  is  three  miles  west  of  Stratford, 
and  New  Haven  thirteen  miles  east. 

We  were  seven  days  in  all  in  descending  the  river, 
which    may   be    considered    the     utmost    limit    of    time 


THE  no  USA  TONIC  EI  1  'ER.  125 

necessary,  as  the  watci-  was  almost  uiiprecederitedly  low 
and  the  days  sliort.  The  invigorating  autumn  air,  how- 
ever, enabled  us  to  sustain  the  burden  of  rowing,  whicii 
some  one  has  characterized  as  the  easiest  kind  of  hard 
work,  —  as  it  surely  is  for  one  accustomed  to  it,  thougli 
a  most  grievous  task  to  a  novice,  —  with  an  effective  stroke 
from  morning  until  night.  The  friend  who  supplied  us 
with  directions,  upon  hearing  an  account  of  our  trip 
wrote :  "  I  did  not  suppose  we  had  such  very  high  water, 
and  it  could  not  have  been  very  liigh  in  July  either.  I 
am  sure  that  letting  down  over  the  great  falls  at  Falls 
Village  would  have  been  about  as  practicable  for  us  as 
letting  down  by  Niagara.  We  were  less  than  three 
quarters  of  an  hour  in  going  from  West  Cornwall  to 
Cornwall  Bridge,  where  you  seem  to  have  had  so  much 
trouble.  We  ruslied  right  along,  bow  on,  as  I  never 
rushed  on  any  stream  before.  At  Lover's  Leap  the  tish- 
way  was  a  roaring  torrent,  and  the  waves  at  the  end  were 
tremendous  curlers.  With  the  same  stage  of  water  I  do 
not  believe  that  it  would  be  safe  to  undertake  to  "-o 
through." 

I  should  advise  any  one  in  boating  on  the  Housatonic 
not  to  be  in  a  hurry,  if  possible  to  avoid  it.  It  is  a  beau- 
tiful stream  from  l)eginning  to  end.  Whoever  descends 
it,  indeed,  in  whatever  way,  will  undoubtedly  retain  in 
memory  unfading  visions  of  scenes  of  ran;  l)eauty,  which 
he    will    nevertheless    unhappily    iind    as    impossible    to 


126  BOATING  Titirs, 

describe    as   the  charms  of  a  })eifect  poem   or  a   perfect 
picture. 

A  single  word  of  caution :  Be  sure  you  know  how  to 
handle  oars  in  wild  water  before  embarking  on  the  mad 
Housatonic. 


THE   NASHUA   RIVER. 


CHAPTER  L 

WEST    Ii<  )VLSTOX. LANCASTER. 

•'  Where  through  the  eahii  repose 
Of  cultured  vales  and  fringing  woods  the  gentle  Xashua  How  s." 

Whittii:i;. 

AT  the  tMid  uf  tlie  trip  on  tlie  Housatouic  J  had  tlie 
boat  sent  as  freight  to  West  Boylston  on  the  South 
Branch  of  the  Nashua,  in  Worcester  Connty,  and  in  July 
of  the  following  year  took  the  three  o'clock  train  from 
Boston  on  the  liostoii  and  Albany  Railroad,  with  a  iVit-nd 
of  previous  experience  in  rivei'  travel,  to  make  a  voyage 
in  her  down  the  Nashua.  At  Worcester,  after  a  very 
convenient  interval  of  forty  minutes  between  trains, 
which  we  improved  by  making  additions  to  our  store  of 
supplies,  we  took  the  five  <^)"clock  train  on  the  Worcester 
and  Nashua  Railroad. 

After  a  short  ride  of  twenty-four  minutes  we  landed 
at  West  Boylston,  and,  without  delay,  obtained  of  the 
station-agent  the  Ijill  of  freight  for  the  boat,  which 
amounted  to  six  dollars  and  fifty-five  cents.  The  charge 
of  the  New  York,  New  Haven,  and  Hartford  Railroad  from 
Stratford  to  S})ringfield,  a  distance  of  seventy-five  miles, 
was  one  dollar  and  seventy-five  cents;  that  of  the  Boston 
and    Albany   for    transporting   her    from    Springfield    to 


130  r.OATlXd   TJUPS. 

Worcester,  fifty-six  miles,  three  dollars  and  tweiit}"  cents, 
while  the  charge  of  the  Worcester  and  Nashua  for  nine 
miles  was  one  dollar  and  sixt}'^  cents. 

Tlie  boat  weighed  only  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds,  but  was  rated  l)y  tlie  first  road  as  weighing  seven 
hundred.  The  Boston  and  Albany,  liowever,  was  nun.-h 
more  generous  and  had  rated  her  as  weighing  two  thou- 
sand pounds.  The  rate  for  a  boat  on  the  printed  tariif 
of  the  Worcester  and  Nashua  Railroad  is  fifteen  hundred 
}»ounils,  l)ut  the  Worcester  and  Nashua  in  a  magnanimous 
spirit  lost  sight  of  its  own  rating  and  adopted,  l)y  some 
strange  preference,  that  ol'  the  Boston  and  Albany  instead 
of  the  somewhat  more  reasonable  fiction  of  the  New  York, 
New  Haven,  and  Hartford. 

Having  liriefiy  called  the  attention  of  the  agent  to  the 
somewhat  remarkable  variability  of  rates  for  sueh  an 
apparenth'  extraordinary  artiele  of  carriage  as  our  boat, 
we  discovered,  u})on  loweri)ig  lier  from  a  long  enforced 
retirement  on  rafters  in  the  loft  of  the  freight-house,  and 
bringing  her  to  the  light  of  day,  that  she  had  been  l)adly 
damaged  in  transportation.  There  was  a  yawning  creviee 
nearly  seven  feet  long  on  one  side  close  to  the  l)ottom. 
The  seams  were  of  course  all  open,  but  we  had  foreseen 
that  they  probably  would  be.  and  had  provided  ourselves 
with  means  to  make  them  tight.  It  was  necessary,  how- 
ever, to  procure  a  skilful  workman  to  repair  the  injuiy, 
and,  upon  inquiry,  we  were  directed  to  tlu'  Avheelwriglit. 


THE  XASin'A  nivEn. 


Vd\ 


]\Ir.  Goseliii.  We  carried  the  boat  with  our  bag'gag'e  on 
a  wheelbarrow,  with  alternate  reliefs  in  wheeling,  down 
a  pretty  steep  road  from  the  d^pot,  and  across  the  level 
of  a  narrow  valley  to  Goselin's  shop,  which  is  on  the  bank 


(if  the  river.  Goselin  examined  the  break  carefully,  and 
then  with  a  calm,  judicial  air  that  Avas  eminently  reassur- 
ing said  he  could  repair  it  on  the  morrow. 

Just    be3^ond  Goselin's  a  handsome  stone    l)ridge  with 
stone  parapets   spans    the  Nashua,  and   only  a  few  stejjs 


132  ]',()ATi.\(;  rini's. 

away  is  an  .irdinaiy  wooden  one  over  a  eanal.  Immedi- 
ately beyond  the  eanal  is  a  small,  unpretentious  hotel, 
which,  however,  unluckily,  happened  to  be  closed  ;  and, 
as  it  is  the  only  one  in  town,  we  were  compelled  to  seek 
(puirters  for  the  night  at  a  remote  private  liouse,  —  while 
farther  on,  past  a  vow  of  buildings,  in  front  of  which  is 
a  park,  that  might,  perhaps,  be  considered  extensive  in 
Ivilliput,  at  the  end  of  the  road,  is  an  old,  two-storied, 
double-gabled,  red  brick  building,  under  a  steep  hillside, 
in  the  longest  block  of  buildings  in  town. 

The  view  southward  from  the  lower  village  is  exceed- 
ingly beautiful.  The  intervale  stretches  away  in  broad 
and  fertile  meadows  of  rich,  dark  green,  bordered  on  the 
west  by  a  wooded  baid^,  broken,  at  a  distance,  by  a  })ro- 
jeeting  headland  of  bare  earth,  to  a  line  of  high  curving 
hills  a  couple  of  miles  distant,  where  a  white  church-spire 
gives  relief  to  thickly-wooded  slopes.  The  river  flows  in 
graceful  curves  over  the  broad  ex})anse,  its  course  marked 
here  and  there  by  a  l)ordering  of  trees,  wliile  at  the 
extreme  end  of  the  vale,  where  the  hills  crowd  together, 
hano-s  a  hicrh  red  bridgfe.  The  canal  runs  along  tlu- 
easterly  side  of  the  intervale,  and  half  a  mile  away,  at  the 
end  of  a  wooded  bank,  close  under  a  hill,  stands,  entirely 
by  itself,  in  a  grand  sort  of  way,  the  large  brick  building 
of  the  Clarendon  Mills.  There  is  a  bridge  at  the  upper 
village,  which  is  perhaps  a  third  of  a  mile  above  the  stone 
bridge,  and  just  below  it  is  the  dam  of  Holbrook's  Mill. 


Till':  XAsinA  i!ivi:i:. 


133 


It  would  be  easy  to  tuirry  a  boat  by  the  dam,  and  in 
taking  a  trip  on  the  river  it  would  be  well  to  begin  at 
least  as  high  upas  Oakdale,  the  next  station  above  West 
Boylston,  on  the  Worcester  and  Nashua  Railroad,  where 
the  Quinepoxet  River  from  Holden  and  the  Stillwater 
from  Sterling,  unite  to  form  the  South  Branch  of  the 
Nashua ;    and,  generally,   the  higher  up  a  river  one   can 


•%B.. 


^^: 


begin  in  boating,  provided  only  it  is  navigable,  the 
better. 

Furthermore,  since  taking  this  trip  the  Massachusetts 
Central  Railroad  lias  been  completed  to  Oakdale,  and 
furnishes  the  most  direct  route  thither  from  Boston.  The 
station  at  West  Boylston  is  alongside  the  canal. 

The  high  ground  between  the  upper  and  lower  villages 
at  West  Boylston  commands,  at  most  points,  a  fine  view 
of  the  broad  intervale  below;  the  river,  lying  deep   and 


134  jioATJXtr  nups. 

(jiiiot  like  a  narrow  pond  betwiien  })ictiu-esque  banks, 
while  the  sliapely  i)eak  of  Wachnsett  stands  forth  jironii- 
nently  in  the  ncnlli,  only  a  few  miles  distant,  and  adds 
a  monntainous  flavor  to  the  gentle  beanty  of  all  the  mral 
landscape  round.  The  view  from  the  sunnnit  of  Mount 
Wachnsett,  which  is  easily  accessible,  is  one  of  the  linest. 
in  extent  and  variety,  of  any  in  Massachnsetts. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  of  next  day,  the  boat  was  ready, 
so,  after  preparing  and  eating  lunch  in  the  blacksmith 
slio})  which  adjoins  Monsieur  Goselin's  establishment,  we 
put  her  in  the  canal,  as  the  river  itself,  on  account  of  the 
lars'e  volume  of  water  drawn  off  throuo-h  the  canal,  was, 
as  we  had  ascertained,  too  shallow  in  many  places  for 
navigation.  In  spite  of  re})aiis  and  caulking,  the  boat 
leaked  pretty  badly  at  hrst ;  but  we  loaded  the  l)aggage 
and  cast  off  about  thi'ee  (/clock.  The  canal  is  wide 
enough  to  row  in,  and  there  is  a  good  current.  We  soon 
came,  however,  to  a  l)rido'e  so  close  to  the  water  that  we 
could  not  }»ass  under  it,  and  we  therefore  made  a  portage 
over  it. 

The  canal  then  opened  into  a  small  })ond,  bordered  on 
the  left  with  a  shady  road  lined  with  oblong,  box-like 
boardingdiouses.  As  we  pulled  down  the  pond  we  had 
a  line  view,  from  its  high  level,  of  the  intervale  opposite 
and  below. 

We  landed  on  the  embankment  at  the  foot  of  the  pond, 
and    carried   the    boat    over  a  grass}'  slope    betAveen    the 


rilK  XASlllA   IHVEJi. 


135 


l)uil( lings  of  the  ClareiKloii  Mills  and  llie  canal,  and  put 
her  into  the  race-way  just  below,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
were  i;'oing  at  a  lively  rate  in  a  very  swift  current 
between  l)anks  of  uniform  liight,  marked  alternately  with 
greenery  and  })atehes  of  gravel. 


After  a  while,  however,  we  came  to  a  l)arrier  in  the 
shape  of  a  log,  which  for  a  few  minutes  looked  trouble- 
some. My  friend,  however,  got  out  and,  without  mucli 
difficTdty,  lifted  one  end  of  the  log,  and  the  boat  glided 
under  without  any  disturbance  to  tlie  baggage,  which  was" 


136  J I  (>.{'/•  J  \(,'  'luirs. 

heaped  up  in  quite  a  inoiintainous  pile  in  the  l)ow. 
Shortly  bel()\\',  swiftly  y'ding  with  IIk'  rushing  cuirreiit, 
we  came  to  anothfr  bridge  so  low  that  we  could  not  i)ass 
it,  and  wc  were  again  conipelled  to  make  a  carry,  which, 
liowcvcr,  we  (quickly  accomplished. 

The  canal  thereafter  assumed  much  more  the  appear- 
ance of  a  river  as  it  tlowed,  with  frecjuent  turns,  I'apidly 
between  lo\\',  open  banks,  (»ften  bordered  on  both  sides 
with  a  thick  netwt)rk  of  bushes.  After  a  delightful  sail  of 
about  two  miles  in  all,  in  the  canal,  the  boat  drifting  stern 
foremost  all  the  while  and  the  oars  only  used  to  keej)  the 
course,  we  emerged  into  the  river,  narrow,  deep,  swift- 
flowing,  and  l)ordered  with    trees. 

We  sought  here  to  get  a,  glimpse  of  the  Red  IJridge 
which  hangs  so  high  in  graceful  suspense,  in  the  view 
fi'om  the  head  of  the  intervale  at  West  lioylston,  but  could 
discover  no  trace  of  it,  and  its  later  whereabouts  remained 
a  mystery  of  the  voyage.  We  soon  passed  a,  high  sand- 
bank on  the  left,  and  then,  after  a  few  windings,  glided 
through  refreshing,  cool  shadows,  under  C'arr's  Bridge,  an 
ancient,  A\'eather-stained  structure  of  quaint  gracefulness, 
made  still  more  iittractive  by  the  beauty  of  its  shaded 
approaches.      The  road   south  leads  to   Boylston    Centre. 

Below,  the  river  was  bordered  on  the  right  l)y  a  steej», 
woody  bank,  while  opposite  were  open  iields.  By  and  by 
we  passed  gravel  embankments  of  the  Massachusetts 
Central  Railroad  on  the  right,  and    after  a  while  ])ulled 


Till-:  \A,sjnA  invEit. 


137 


between  piles  upon  whicli  the  railroad  is  carried  over  the 
river,  and  entered  the  pond  above  Sawyer's  Mill. 

We  pulled  under  a  bridge  near  the  end  of  the  pond, 
and  landed  at  the  left  of  the  dam  just  belo^v.  We  found, 
however,  that,  ujion  this  occasion  at  any  rate,  it  would  be 


^^  ^'^^oylsidn 


easier  to  get  over  the  dam  on  the  right-hand  side,  as  water 
was  not  pouring  over  the  dam  and  there  is  quite  a  high 
ledsre  of  rocks  below  the  dam  on  that  side.  It  took  us 
only  a  few  minutes  indeed  to  loAver  the  boat  into  the 
river  below  the  dam,  and,  having  reloaded  the  baggage, 
Ave  made  rapid  progress  down  stream.  The  Nashua 
indeed  floAvs  verv  swiftlv  here,  wandering  in  a   charmino-, 


138  lioATisa  rinrs. 

vagrant  fashion  hither  and  tliithcr  over  the  level  of  ({iiite 
an  extensive  valley,  dashing  at  frequent  intervals  over 
beds  of  gravel  and  niahing  ninsie  as  it  goes.  It  was  past 
six  o'clock,  and  we  talked  of  halting  to  pitch  the  tent, 
bnt,  tempted  hv  the  pleasant  windings  of  the  swift-flow- 
ing stream,  we  continued  on  and  neglectfully  passed  one 
good  camping  ground  after  another. 

While  shooting  through  a  rapid  at  a  lively  pace  we  came 
near  being  imjjaled  on  a  barbed  wire  stretched  across  the 
stream.  There  was  (|uite  a  number  of  such  wires  at 
various  points  along  the  river,  and  they  constitute  the 
only  source  of  danger  I  know  of  on  the  "gentle" 
Nashua. 

After  a  while  the  shallow  ra[)ids  came  to  a  sudden  end, 
and  we  entered  the  head  of  the  long  pond  above  Clinton. 
We  soon  pulled  under  a.  bridge  and  past  a  primitive  steam- 
boat landing  below,  and  then  began  to  look  out  in  earnest 
for  the  night's  resting-place,  bnt  for  a  long  time  without 
discovering  a  location  in  any  way  desirable.  We  finally 
got  into  the  l)road  pond  and  at  last  halted  on  the  left 
shore,  and  pitched  our  tent  in  the  woods  on  the  level  of 
the  bank  above,  and  while  regretting  opportunities  for 
camping  neglected  above  the  head  of  the  pond,  con- 
gratulated ourselves  as  darkness  set  in  that  we  had  found 
a  place  not  quite  so  bad  as  we  had  just  before  ccnne  to 
believe  would  have  to  be  our  refuge.  Before  going  to 
sleep  we  could  plainly  hear  conversati(»n  and  the  noise  of 


THE  XAsiiiA  nivin:.  139 

wagons  on  tlic  high-road  on  tlie  opposite  side  of  the  jxjnd, 
and  during  the  night  A\ere  startled  at  times  into  half- 
conseions  Avakefuhiess  by  the  intermittent  tread  of  some 
creature  near  the  tent. 

We  got  under  way  about  nine  o'tdock  Wednesday. 
After  a  short  ])ull  betAA'een  the  high  banks  near  the  foot 
of  the  pond,  wliich  diminishes  in  width  toward  the  end, 
we  hinded  on  the  sLiping  edge  of  the  dam,  as  water  was 
not  pouring  over  it.  Tlie  (him,  whicli  is  just  below  a 
bridge,  is  of  stone,  not  wide,  but  upwards  of  twenty  feet 
high.  There  is  no  opportunity  to  get  by  the  dam  on 
either  side;  it  A\'as  also  quite  impossible  to  lower  the  boat 
down  its  perpendicular  face,  and  we  had  no  inducement  to 
attempt  it,  as  the  bed  of  the  stream  l)elow  was  completely 
dry  ;  so  we  pulled  back  past  a  iiropeller  and  two  or  three 
sail-boats  moored  in  a  group  and  landed  on  the  north 
shore  near  a  wliarf,  and  then  had  to.  walk  up  the  long  hill 
to  the  village  Ijefore  Ave  could  iind  a  team  to  carry  us 
around.  We  drove  past  the  Lancaster  ]Mills,  —  and  ()ut  of 
the  long  array  of  buildings  came  an  infernal  clatter, — 
and  then  along  a  ver}^  fine  level  road,  which  at  one  point 
runs  close  to  the  river.  We  might  have  launched  the 
boat  here  on  the  brinnning  Hood,  but  the  teamster  advised 
us  that  there  was  another  dam  only  a  (|uarter  of  a  mile 
below,  so  we  continued  on,  and  in  a  few  minutes  drove 
across  tlie  road  below  it,  and  then  shot  the  boat  down 
a  sloping   bank,  lined   with   great    trees,  into    the   river. 


140  JiOATLXU    TJHI'S. 

After  emharking,  it  seemed  to  ns,  as  we  looked  up  stream 
under  the  bridge,  as  il'  it  would  not  l)e  at  all  difficult  to 
get  b}"  the  second  dam,  which  is  so  low,  indeed,  that  I 
believe  we  might  liavi'  floated  the  boat  over  it.  We  had 
made  considerable  saving  in  time,  however,  by  the  long 
carry,  whieh  cost  for  ourselves,  boat,  and  baggage,  about 
a  lialf  mile  in  all,  seventy-five  cents.  A  rapid  current 
bore  us  swiftly  on  in  an  open  intervale  with  high  liills  at 
a  little  distance  on  almost  eveiy  side.  The  houses  of 
Clinton  were  scattered  over  the  more  remote  western 
slopes,  with  here  and  there  a  window  glittering  in  the 
rays  of  the  sun,  and  all  tremulous  in  the  heat,  looking  so 
hot  and  uncomfortable  that  we  were  glad  to  turn  to  the 
swift  movement  of  the  coolly  flowing  river.  The  current 
after  a  little  while,  however,  subsided  in  the  still  water  of 
a  pond.  We  supposed  at  the  time  that  the  North  Branch 
of  the  Nashua  here  joined  the  one  on  which  we  were 
sailing,  and  we  looked  doubtfully  from  time  to  time  into 
the  numerous  green  recesses  in  which  the  pond  abounded. 
Fortunately,  however,  we  ke})t  rightly  on  our  way  to  the 
foot  of  it  wliere  there  is  a  bridge,  with  a  grist-mill,  a 
homely,  old-fashioned  building  which  outwardly  gives 
indication  of  its  use,  on  one  side,  while  on  the  right, 
opposite,  is  a  hill  of  graceful  slope,  marked  l)y  a  great 
elm  and  crowned  by  a  farm-house.  There  is  no  village  in 
sight,  but  the  place,  I  believe,  goes  by  the  name  of  South 
Lancaster.      We  made  a  portage,  \\'hich  was  very  easy,  to 


THE  XASIHA  111  VEIL 


141 


the  i'it>ht  of  the  bridge,  to  avoid  the  (him,  wliicli  is  beneatii 
it.  The  dam  is  not  very  high,  but  tlie  edge  is  lined  at 
brief  intervals  with  stakes,  which  divide  the  fall  of  water 
in  a  very  pretty  way  into  innumerable  glass-like  portions. 


^"'/^/SoufhlancaSJer^  ' 


We  lowered  the  boat  over  a  little  ledge  of  rocks  below 
the  fall,  and,  while  backing  her  down  stream,  had  our 
attention  attracted  to  ii  man  on  the  bridge,  who  was 
wildly  gesticulating,  iis  his  voice  was  useless  in  explana- 
tion, on  account  of  the  noise  of  the  water.  We  (|uit;kly 
concluded,  however,  as  we  were  hurrying  along  in  the 
swift  water,  and  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  our  course, 


142  ItOATIXC    Th'I/'S. 

that  lie  was  trying  to  tell  us  alxiut  danger  on  the  river, 
of  wiiieh  we  had  no  tear,  and  we,  thereinre,  gave  liini  hut 
luonientary  heed.  In  a  l"e\\'  minutes,  we  pulled  through 
an  arch,  under  a  lofty  embaidvuient  of  the  Lancaster 
Railroad.  The  road  was  designed  to  give  Lancaster 
direct  conunuuieation  with  Boston:  and  was  coni))leted 
to  Hudson,  hut  never  used-  It  is  now,  howe^■er,  I  under- 
stand, operated  as  a  branch  of  the  Old  Colony,  which  is 
thus  considerably  estray,  as  it  were,  from  Cape  Cod  and 
Plymouth  County. 

The  Nashua  then  ilowed  mostly  with  a  swift  current, 
Avith  many  a  crook  and  turn  over  the  wide  level  of  a 
fertile  valley.  The  river  now  glided  gently  between 
turfy  l)anks,  and,  again,  rippled  along  with  soft  murmurs; 
or.  descending  a  bed  of  gravel,  ''made  music  on  its 
pebbled  rim."  Here  and  there  was  a  tree  or  a  clump  of 
bushes,  while  the  hills  whieh  l)ordered  the  valley  were 
silent  in  a  motionless,  sleep}"  haze. 

Just  above  Atherton  Bridge,  the  novel  spectacle  of  a 
boat  on  the  river,  attracted  and  held  the  undivided  atten- 
tion of  a  luan  and  two  boys  who  were  sifting  gravel  on 
the  bank.  The}"  gazed  with  such  friendly,  sympathetic 
interest,  until  we  were  lost  to  sight,  that  I  wish  we  might 
have  taken  them  in.  Below  the  bridge,  we  came  upon 
an  artist  on  the  left  baidv,  under  a  white  cotton  umbrella, 
painting,  perhaps  a  group  of  cattle  at  the  water's  brink, 
or  some  noble  trees,  or  the  rich  ex[)anse  of  the  broad 
and  luxuriant   Lancaster  intervale  bevond. 


THE  XASHUA  lilVEn.  143 

The  river  ([uickly  sent  us  on  our  way  as  it  rushed  from 
buiilv  to  bank,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  w^re  hurried 
down  a  swift  raj)id  to  the  mouth  of  the  Nortli  Branch  of 
the  Nashua,  a  tran([uil,  dignified  stream  tliat  seemed  like 
a  reproof  to  check  the  other's  boisterous  flow.  Pulling 
out  from  the  current,  we  landed  at  the  edge  of  the  ri[)i)le 
on  a  sand  beach,  at  the  point  of  junction,  a  very  delight- 
ful spot.  Just  in  front,  looking  down  stream,  is  the  Cen- 
tre Bridge,  which  spans  tlie  united  rivers,  wdiile  in  the 
rear,  between  the  two  branches,  stretches  a  lordly  held  of 
more  than  two  hundred  acres,  bordered  on  the  north  l)y  a 
wooded  slope,  and  marked  in  the  middle  by  a  gigantic 
oak.  The  banks  of  the  rivers  are  lined  with  trees,  which 
congregate  in  a  little  assembly  at  the  ])oint.  We  pitched 
the  tent  here,  near  tlic  smoothly  Mowing,  dark -brown 
water  of  the  North  Branch.  A  little  distance  above  was 
the  bridge  of  the  Worcester  and  Nashua  Kailroad  ;  and 
beyond  the  easterly  end,  we  caught  a  glimpse  here  and 
there,  amid  banks  of  foliage,  of  the  houses  of  Lancaster. 

it  was  past  noon,  and  we  began  to  make  preparations 
for  lunch,  when  we  discovered  that  our  can  of  milk  was 
missing,  and  then,  alas  I  somewhat  too  late,  we  knew  the 
meaning  of  the  rude  pantomime  by  the  man  on  the  bridge 
at  South  Lancaster.  He  had  endeavored  to  warn  us  that 
we  had  left  it  on  tlie  bank.  It  was  idle  to  think  of  row- 
ing l)ack  up  the  swift  stream,  so  we  returned  by  way  of 
the  railroad,  under  the  hottest  of   July  suns,  and,  luckily. 


144  n<).\ri\(!  rini's. 

loiind  tile  can  in  llic  v\vh  »>l  a  itick,  a  little  to  one  side 
the  place  ot"  mir  cniharkatioii,  still  in  jilain  sit;lit  IVoni 
lioth  road  and  river.  Tlie  Nasliua  is,  liowever,  I  i)olii,'ve, 
the  Letlie  of  New  En^laml  lixcrs.  We  were  often, 
indeed,  lulled  into  a  state  of  forg'etfnlness,  in  followin;^^-  its 
mazy  windings.  At  the  outset,  we  fori^ot  a  J'ipe,  then  the 
ridge-pole  and  supports  ol"  the  tent,  and  at  Lancaster  left 
the  hatchet. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  we  jmlieil  np  the  Noith  liraneh. 
We  rowed  under  the  railroad  bridge  and  the  Sprague 
Bridge  iust  above,  and  then  toiled  through  a  stretch  of 
rapids.  We  })ulled  up  half  a  uiile  [)erhaps  in  all,  and 
then  turning  about,  glided  swiftly  through  one  rapid 
after  another,  with  only  an  occasional  stroke,  hardly 
necessary,  save  to  give  direction,  where  thirty  or  fort}^ 
hard  strokes  had  barely  sufficed  to  carry  us  laboriously 
\\\).  We  landed  at  the  Sprague  Bridge,  and,  after 
I'aniblino-  throu"'h  the  village,  returned  to  our  caini)  at 
the  junction. 

The  North  Branch  of  the  Nashua  is,  as  maps  indicate, 
a  very  tortuous  stream.  I  have  little  doubt,  however, 
that,  with  a  light  boat,  and  no  disinclination  to  an 
occasional  "easy,"  by  wading  where  the  ra})ids  are  shallow- 
as  well  as  swift,  one  canild  go  up  as  far  as  i.,eon)inster, 
which  is  eight  miles  above  Lancaster,  and,  })erhaps,  to 
Fitchburg.  It  is,  however,  I  have  no  doubt,  easily  navi- 
gable in  descent,  from  either  })lace,  by  skiff   or  canoe. 


THE  NASHUA  lilVEE.  145 

We  rowed  up  the  North  Branch  again,  in  the  evening, 
and  landed .  at  the  foot  of  a  hxne,  immediately  below  the 
railroad  bridge.  Returning  late  from  the  village,  we 
had  to  grope  our  way  cautiously  througli  the  lane,  which 
was  very  dark  ;  and  the  river  was  so  black  that  we  could 
not  see  a  boat's  lengtli  in  any  direction.  The  voyage  to 
camp  was,  indeed,  throughout,  a  nocturne  of  shadows. 


CHAPTER    TT. 

LANCASTKK. (WIOTON. 

~TXT"E  were  iiwakeued  Tliursday  iiioniiiig  by  tlie  sound 
ot"  gi'eat  rain-drops  hoa\ily  iiattciing  on  oiii- 
canvas  covering,  and  were  compelled  to  lie  a  long  time  on 
(lur  l)eds  of  hay,  in  which  was  mingled  mnch  odorous 
sweet-fern,  listening  to  the  music  of  the  storm.  The 
lightning  was  incessant  and  vivid,  and  crash  after  crash 
of  thunder  broke  througli  the  sky.  It  seemed,  indeed,  as 
if  the  ghostlike  mythicals  whom  local  tradition  says  make 
thunder  among  the  Catskills  by  bowling  ten-pins  during 
a  sliower,  luid  transferred  tlie  scene  of  their  sport,  and 
were  bowling  a  constant  succession  of  strikes  above  Lan- 
caster. We  did  not  get  wet  in  the  least,  however,  and 
after  a  while  the  thunder  rolled  grumbling  away  in  the 
distance,  the  sun  shone  brightly,  and  birds  everywhere 
filled  tlie  air  with  the  melod}'  of  their  delayed  matins. 
Camp  duties  were  performed  by  the  iniddle  of  the 
morning,  and  then  once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  we 
pulled  up  the  North  Branch  to  the  village.  At  the  landing 
at  the  foot  of  the  lane  we  had  talk  with  a  man  who,  in  a 
comnmnicative  humor,  told  us  something  of  his  life.  He 
had  been  a  sailor  in  his  youth,  and  had  voyaged  over 
nearlv  all   the   oceans  of  the  world;   l)ut  now,  in   middle 


THE  XASHUA  III  VEIL  147 

age,  had  found  a  snug  harbor  in  the  rural  quietude  of 
Lancaster.  We  had  ah-eady  l)efore,  strangely  enough,  yet 
naturally,  too,  perhaps,  in  accordance  with  a  law  that 
seems  to  grou[)  incidents  of  a  similar  kind  in  life  in  close 
sequence,  met,  in  the  coiu'se  of  our  brief  excursion,  a 
reminiscence  of  the  sea,  a  sailor  lad  on  the  train  from 
Boston,  who  wore  the  cap  of  the  Powhattan.  He  Avas 
a  mere  boy,  but  said  he  had  been  away  cruising  the  past 
nine  years.  He  had  written  to  his  parents  only  once 
during  all  this  time,  and  had  not  heard  from  them  at  all. 
With  sailor-like  unconcern,  however,  he  was  then  c)n  his 
way  to  Springfield,  on  a  tliree^  days'  leave  of  absence,  to 
ascertain  whether  his  home  was  still  unbroken.  I  should 
not  be  at  all  surprised  if  lie,  too,  sometime  in  the  future, 
found  a  retreat  somewhere  along  the  "gentle"  Nashua. 

The  principal  })a.rt  of  Lancaster  lies  upon  the  westerly 
slope  of  a  ridge  that  extends  in  a  northerly  direction  from 
the  North  Branch  of  the  Nashua,  and  affords  a  fine  view 
of  the  river-basin  and  es[)ecially  the  broad,  gently  sloping- 
hillsides  beyond.  Upon  the  l)ack  of  the  ridge,  along  its 
highest  elevation,  which  also  commands  a  wide  view  of 
the  valley  east,  are  the  schoolhouse.  Town  Hall,  Memorial 
Hall,  a  church,  and  a  large  hotel,  all  of  substantial  brick. 
The  town  library,  a  large  and  well-appointed  institution, 
second  onh-  in  size  and  e(|uipment,  I  think,  to  the  Concord 
library,  is  in  a  very  handsome  octagonal  room  in  Memorial 
Hall.     Most    other    towns    have,  during    the    })ast    thirt}' 


14S  noATixa  rnii'S.  • 

years.  I'di  tlic  impulse  of  the  maicli  of  modern  times, 
and  now  throb  with  ne\\'  industries  and  teem  with  alien 
p(»]>ulation  ;  but  Lancaster  preserves,  in  a  marked  degree, 
the  traditional  eharaetei'  of  tlie  old  New-I^ngland  village, 
and  seems  likely  to  for  many  a  yi-ar  to  come.  .V  singu- 
larly beautiful  rural  landscuipe,  which,  soon  after  the  land- 
ing of  the  Pilgrims  brought  the  lirst  settlers  to  the  town, 
still  remains  its  greatest  attraction. 

Lancaster  is  indeed  the  oldest  town  in  Worcester 
County.  It  was  settled  in  1645,  and  incorporated  in  1653. 
It  was  for  many  years  the  most  advanced  post  of  the 
Pilgrim  Colony.  The  inhabitants,  ht)wever,  lived  on 
amicable  terms  with  the  Indians,  and  tlie  settlement 
thrived  continuously  until  the  outbreak  of  King  Philip's 
War.  On  August  22,  1675,  eight  persons  were  killed  by 
the  Indians,  and  the  tenth  of  February  following,  several 
tribes,  led  by  Philip  himself,  made  a  desperate  attack 
upon  the  town,  in  hve  different  places  at  once,  in  which 
more  than  fifty  were  killed  or  taken  prisoners.  Six  weeks 
afterward  all  the  houses  but  two  were  destroyed,  the  towu 
was  deserted,  and  Lancaster  remained  without  an  inhab- 
itant for  more  than  three  years.  The  inhabitants  then 
besan  to  return,  and  were  not  molested  in  the  resettle- 
ment  of  the  town  until  after  King  William's  accession  to 
the  throne  of  England,  which  occasioned  a  new  series 
of  hostilities,  in  which  the  Indians  were  encouraged  and 
aided  by  the  French  as  allies.     They  made  an  assault  in 


THE  XA  SU  UA  II  n  'HE.  149 

July,  1602,  and  renewed  their  attaeks  at  various  intervals 
from  time  to  time,  down  to  August  5,  1710,  when,  as  an 
ancient  chronicler  says,  the  last  miscJiief  was  done. 

At  the  time  of  the  assault,  in  February,  1676,  the  wife 
of  the  minister  was  taken  eaptive  by  the  Indians,  and 
remained  among  them  several  weeks  before  she  was 
ransomed.  Soon  after  her  release  she  wrote  an  account 
of  the  attack  upon  the  town  and  her  experience  among 
the  Indians,  which  was  published  in  a  little  book  entitled 
Narrative  of  the  Captivity  and  Removes  of  Mary  Kow- 
landson.  It  is  written  in  quaint  language  in  graphic  style 
and  contains  a  strange  admixture  of  events  most  pathetic, 
and  incidents  most  ludicrous,  despite  their  tragic,  rueful 
as[)ect.  The  sentences  for  the  most  })art,  however,  fairly 
roll  and  groan  under  the  burden  of  her  terri])le  stor}-. 
The  narrative,  l)rief  as  it  is,  nevertheless  throws  a  great 
deal  of  light  on  the  character,  traits,  mode  of  life,  and 
manners  of  the  Indians,  and  may  indeed  wisely  l)e  read  as 
a  very  effective  antidote  to  the  romanticism  of  Cooper. 

A  History  of  Lancaster  was  written  by  the  Rev.  A.  P. 
Marvin,  and  published  by  the  town  in  1879.  It  is  a  very 
interesting  account  of  the  early  settlement  and  progress 
of  the  town,  and  contains  man}^  illustrations  and    ma])S. 

After  a  while  we  returned  to  the  junction  again,  l)roke 
camp,  and  were  soon  under  way  once  more.  We  pulled 
into  the  ripple  swiftly  flowing  out  of  the  South  Branch, 
and  quickly  shot  under  the  Centre  Bridge,  which  spans  the 


ir)0  BOATLXG   TRirS. 

Nashua.  The  Centre  Bridge,  one  liiiiidied  and  seventy- 
three  feet  h)ng,  is  an  iron  stiiu-turc,  in  siisix-nse  from 
bank  to  bank,  light,  graceful,  and  conunodious.  The 
Sprague  Bridge  over  the  North  liranch,  which,  in  old 
deeds,  was  called  the  North  Uiver,  is  one  hundred  and 
forty  feet  in  length  ;  while  the  Atherton  Bridge  over  the 
South  Branch  is  ninety. 

The  main  river  was  called  Pennacook  by  the  Indians. 
The  Indian  name  was  retained  for  a  while  by  the  early 
settlers,  according  to  Marvin's  Itistor}',  and  the  river  is 
indeed  thus  designated  on  the  oldest  maps.  The  present 
name,  Nashua,  is  a  corruption  of  Nashaway,  which  was  the 
name  of  the  tribe  of  Indians  who  lived  along  the  banks  of 
the  river,  and  was  after  a  time,  perhaps  natui-ally,  and  at 
any  rate  very  happily,  bestowed  upon  it  by  the  settlers. 
I  have  seen  it  stated  that  nashaway  was  a  generic  Indian 
word  and  signified  "a  place  l)et\veen"'  oi-  ''  in  tlie  middle." 
I  have,  however,  also  seen  it  stated  that  the  word  signified 
"  the  beautiful  stream  with  the  pebbly  bottom."  The 
river  near  Lancaster  was  also  at  one  time  called  the 
Lancaster  River,  and  in  the  same  way  the  river  for  an 
indefinite  distance  above  and  below  Groton  was  called  the 
Groton  River. 

The  river  at  first  flowed,  for  the  most  part,  steadily 
with  a  deep  strong  current  between  gently  curving  banks 
of  uniform  hight,  and  we 'rowed  along  at  an  easy  pace 
under  a  chiudy  sky.     Standing  up  in  the  boat  we  could 


THE  NASHUA  RIVEB,  151 

look  across  the  broad,  luxuriant,  level  fields  to  the  hills 
far  away  on  the  south  side  l)eyond.  We  often  passed  a 
group  of  cows  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  water  and 
doubtfully  eyeing  us,  or  on  the  bank  above  staring 
witli  a  distant  gaze  at  the  strange  apparition  floating- 
down  river.  After  a  while  the  river  often  descended  a 
gravelly  shallow  with  a  rusli,  and  we  swiftly  floated  along 
past  rapidly  receding  l)anks  of  sand  or  clay.  Tlien, 
by  and  l)y,  the  river  flowed  smoothly  between  green  banks 
under  arcliing  trees,  and  uKwing  thus  in  state,  touclied 
a  high  hill  on  the  left  and  passed  under  a  very  picturesque, 
old-fashioned,  weather-stained  road  bridge,  perhaps  the 
connecting  link  of  the  old  Lancaster-Concord  turni)ike. 
The  river  then  still  softly  flowed  in  beautifnl  readies,  and 
after  a  while  at  intervals  poured  darkly  with  a  deep, 
strong  current  past  great  banks  of  sand,  which  made 
a  very  pictures(|ue  feature  of  the  ri'verscape.  They  were, 
for  the  nu)st  i)art,  fringed  along  the  semi-circular  top  edge 
with  pines,  while  the  sandy  faqade  presented  a  grotesque 
spectacle  of  trees  and  shruljs  engaged  in  a  ho|)eless  struggle 
to  maintain  their  position  in  the  sliding  mass.  Plaintively 
they  turned  in  every  direction,  while  others,  settled  at  the 
margin  oi  the  water,  were  awaiting  with  melancholy 
resignation  their  liour  of  doom  at  the  hands  of  a  spring 
freshet. 

After  we  had  journeyed  about  an  hour  in  all,  a  sliower 
came   up   and  we  made  fast  to  the  bank   in  a  leaf}^  cave 


152  t!<  >.{'/•/ \(r  in  IPS. 

roriiicd  \)\  tin'  drooping  liraiiclics  ol'  a  gniceful  eiiii,  where 
we  were  ainply  piott'ctcd,  while  outsuh'  the  swiftly 
moving'  surface  of  the  wa-ler  boiled  A\ith  the  thickly 
])atterill^•  di'ops  of  I'aiii.  While  waiting  fur  the  rain  to 
cease,  m c  had  liim-h.  The  clouds  finally  began  to  blow 
over,  and  we  forthwith  again  got  under  way,  and,  I're 
long,  the  last  rack  disappeared  and  the  sunshine,  pouring 
down  from  a  clear  sky.  tilled  all  the  valley  with  brilliantly 
luminous  light.  The  river  then  soon  began  to  wind  in 
a  labyrinthian  maze  over  a  \\ide  intervale,  turning  indeed 
in  most  ca[)ricious  fashion  hither  and  thither,  as  if  it  had 
lost  its  way.  The  reaches  curled  roiuul  and  round,  one 
into  another,  ajid  at  brief  intervals  we  faced  every  point  of 
the  ct)mpass.  Luckily  there  M'as  a  good  current  most  of 
the  time.  After  a  while,  however,  the  river  seemed  to  be 
moving  in  a  northerly  direction,  and  we  passed  through 
many  long,  wide  reaches,  where  trees  lined  the  baid-cs 
almost  continuously.  Here  the  Nashua  was  indeed 
a  lotus-like  stream,  and.  as  we  [)ursued  our  course  close  to 
shore  under  the  branches  which  drooped  over  the  Avater 
in  a  slee})y  way,  it  was  easy  to  fall  into  a  dreamful  mood, 
while  the  stillness  of  the  scene,  the  quiet  flow  of  the 
river,  and  the  gentle  rocking  of  the  boat,  all  contributed 
to  lull  one's  senses  to  a  dund)  feeling  of  enjoyment. 
Unless,  indeed,  I  am  very  nuich  nnstaken,  some  one  did 
fall  asleep. 

At  length  the  river  approached  a   high  hill  on  the  east 


THE  XASHUA  lUVEi;. 


153 


and  we  swung  under  a  bridge  of  the  Worcester  and 
Nasluui  Railroad,  and  put  ashore  at  the  east  end  of  tlie 
road  bridge,  which  spans  the  river  at  the  head  of  the  next 
bend  beh)w.  The  de})ot  of  Still  River  Village  is  only 
a  few  steps  away.     The  village    however,  is  half  a   mile 


distant  on  top  of  the  hill,  and  is  reached  by  a  direct,  but 
jjretty  steep  road.  The  view  along  the  way,  and  especially 
near  and  at  the  summit,  however,  amply  repays  the 
trouble  of  ascent.  The  valley  of  the  Nashua  below  is 
wide  and  deep,  and  stretches  away  a  magnificent  vista 
towards  the  southwest.      Opposite  are  broad,  high  hills, 


154  liOATISa   TIUI'S. 

ami  heliiml  tliem  liillt()})s  roll  away  until  lost  in  the 
distance.  The  Nashua  makes  a  wide  semi-ciicidar  sweep 
from  West  Boylston  to  Still  River  Village,  which  is  well 
indicated  by  the  relative  change  in  position  of  Wachusett. 
At  West  Boylston,  Wachusett  stands  out  a  sharp  cone  in 
the  north,  while  at  Still  Ki'vr  Village,  elongated  iido 
slopes  of  exquisite  gracefulness,  it  bounds  the  western 
horizon.  The  view  northward,  which  terminates  with  the 
blue  peak  of  Monadnock,  is  also  very  tine. 

The  few  houses  of  Still  River  Village  are  grouped  about 
a  tri})le  cross-road  on  the  crown  of  a  hill,  where  the  suns 
of  summer  and  the  winds  of  winter  have  the  freest  access. 
*T  is  a  quiet  ])lace,  as  befits  its  name,  which  it  derives, 
I  suppose,  from  a  sluggish  stream  that  somewhere 
meanders  over  the  intervale  below.  As  we  walked  along 
the  deserted  roads,  not  a  soul  in  sight  and  the  only  scnind 
the  harmonious  clang  of  a  blacksmitirs  hannner  on  anvil, 
it  seemed  indeed  as  if  we  had  come  to  a  Dreamthorpe  in 
Arcadia.  Still  River  Village,  however,  boasts  a  post-ofltiee, 
which  we  discovered,  after  a  long  search,  in  the  wood-shed 
attached  to  a  private  liouse.  The  office  was  equip})ed 
with  a  single  row  of  open  boxes  affixed  to  the  wall.  In 
one  was  a  paper  and  in  another  a  letter,  which,  it  is  to  be 
hoi)ed,  were  not  soon  taken  away. 

We  got  under  way  again  about  four  o'clock,  and  pulleil 
at  a  leisurely  pace  through  a  succession  of  lazily  winding 
reaches.     We  were    once    startled    for  a  moment  by  the 


THE  XASHUA  RIVER.  155 

sound  of  H  stone  plumping  into  the  water  (|uitc  near  us. 
We  were  only  splashed,  but  nevertheless  set  up  an  outcry 
which  speedily  brought  a  farmer  through  the  bushes  on 
the  bank  with  an  apology  of  his  complete  ignorance  of 
our  presence,  which  was,  no  doubt,  the  entire  truth.  After 
rowing  about  an  hour  in  all,  we  landed  at  the  head  of 
an  abrupt  bend  of  the  river  on  the  right,  and  procured 
some  supplies  at  a  farm-house  just  abcjve. 

The  river  had  before  been  moving  generally  eastward, 
but  here  took  a  turn  in  a  westerly  direction  until  it  laved 
a  hill  where  the  remains  of  stone  abutments  were  visible 
on  both  sides  of  the  river.  The  reaches  were  all  quite 
long,  and  after  pulling  past  the  ruins  of  an  old  dam  we 
entered  one  of  great  length  and  beauty.  The  banks  on 
either  side  were  high  and  lined  with  trees,  and  away  at 
the  end  where  the  river  disap})eared  in  a  curve  to  the 
right  was  a  great  bank  of  sand  and  above  it  an  open  grove 
of  lofty  pines.  We  landed  beneath  their  sliade  alongside 
a  fallen  tree,  and  clambering  up  the  sandy  slope  found  the 
ground  above  smooth  as  a  house-flo(jr  and  covered  with 
a  matting  of  pine  pins  softer  to  foot-fall  than  Moquette 
or  Axminster.  The  water  in  the  long  reach  through 
which  we  had  just  come,  smooth  as  glass,  reflected  clouds 
and  sky  as  in  a  mirror.  Just  below,  the  river  descended 
with  a  rush  by  a  high  clay-bank,  while  a  brook,  whicli 
goes  by  the  euphonious  title  of  Catacoonamaug,  poured 
with  a  loud  roar    over  a    stony  channel    along    one    side 


156  liOATixa  Tini's. 

of  the  (rrovc  and  ciniitic'd  into  (lie  Nasliua  half-way  down 
tlie  rapid.  Wc  pitched  the  teul  in  an  open  sj)ace  near 
the  t'dgx'  of  the  l)ank,  where  the  canvas  gkuuned  almost 
saerilegittuslv  white  in  the  solemn  shade  of  a  forest  aisle, 
\\liich  ended  in  darksome  I'eeesses ;  while  the  sunlight 
streamed  ahove  the  tojjs  of  the  trees  and  fell  like  a 
l)enedietion  ni)on  a  (piaint  old  farm-house  on  the  ridge 
oi"  a  hill  which  slopes  up  with  gentle  inclination  from  the 
o[)posite  bank.  The  Fitchburg  Railroad  runs  along  the 
hills  on  the  westerly  side  of  the  river.  We  heard  from 
time  to  time  the  roar  of  a  train,  and  occasionally  caught 
sio'ht  of  a  puff  of  smoke.  We  could  })lai]dy  hear  the  trains 
slowing  to  a  stop  at  Shirley  Village,  about  a  mile  back 
of  us  tlirough  the  Avoods,  and  also  the  strokes  of  the  town" 
clock  which  rang  out  the  hours  in  long,  musical  tones.  A 
l)ath  led  among  the  pines  to  the  village,  but  somehow 
Ave  did  not  get  there,  and  Shirley  A^illage  remains  the 
Carcassonne  of  the  trip. 

We  got  under  Avay  about  eight  o'clock  next  morning. 
We  had  considerable  trouble  in  getting  under  a  barbed 
Avire  stretched  across  the  stream  just  at  the  foot  of  the 
rapid.  The  riA^er  Avas  (|uite  SAvift  in  several  places  beloAV 
and  at  times  slialloAv.  We  pulled  along  the  east  bank  to 
keep  out  of  the  sun's  raj^s.  While  roAving  by  the  mouth 
of  a  shalloAv  bayou  Ave  discovered  a  huge  snapping  turtle 
in  full  flight  for  the  river.  The  oarsman  endeavored  to 
stop  his  progress  Avith  an  oar,  but  after  turning  him  over 


THE  NASHUA  It  I  VEIL  157 

and  dancing  him  on  his  head  several  times,  the  water  got 
riled,  and  in  the  confusion  lie  esca[)ed.  After  rowing 
about  two  miles  we  pulled  under  a  bridge,  the  road  east 
from  wliieli  leads  to  Ayer  Junction,  and  just  below  shot 
thr(nigh  a  little  fall  of  water  amid  the  ruins  of  an  old  dam. 
The  river  then  flows  with  an  occasional  ripple  to  the 
bridge  of  the  Fitchburg  Railroad,  under  which  it  [»ours 
in  quite  a  swift  rapid.  We  landed  near  one  end  of  it  on 
the  right  and  walked  to  Aver  Junction,  which  is  three 
fourths  of  a  mile  from  the  river.  The  convergence  of 
is^cveral  railroads  gives  the  village  an  air  of  considerable 
importance.  What  a  relief,  though,  u[)on  returning,  to 
leave  the  hard  bed  of  tlie  railroad  with  its  confusiny-  series 
of  cross-ties  and  long  lines  of  glistening  rails,  and  once 
more  embark  on  the  cool  river  and  swing  with  the  How 
of  a  stream  gently  winding  ])etween  green  lianks  in  a 
craft  responsive  to  every  stroke  of  the  oar  I  We  pulled 
along  one  or  the  other  baidc  in  the  current,  now  j)ast  a 
shore  lined  with  bushes  and  often  under  overhano-iuo- 
trees.  Beyond,  on  either  side,  was  a  pleasing  variety 
of  scenery,  a  Avooded  hill  near  or  afar  oft',  a  grove  of  pines, 
or  a  cultivated  held,  all  (juiet  and  seemingly  asleep  in 
the  heated  noonday  air.  The  river  alone  gave  sign  of 
life,  but  it  too  finally  made  its  way  lazily  amid  the 
tran(j[uil  scenes  around. 

We    pulled    perhaps  an  hour,  and  then  landed  on   the 
left  bank  and  spread  our  blankets  at  the  edge  of  a  sunken 


158  boatim;  tuips. 

road  at  the  foot  of  a  steep,  thickly  wooded  hillside.  A 
stieaia  of  crystal  water  sparkled  across  the  road  a  short 
disl;uiee  away,  and  above  was  the  embaukinent  of  a  dam 
and  a  curious  old  saw-niiU.  liehiw  tlie  mill  was  a  small, 
shallow  pond,  which  was,  however,  the  favored  abode 
of  a  multitude  of  frogs,  among  whom,  with  the  willing  aid 
of  a  friendly  urchin,  we  made  sad  havoc  in  the  course  of 
the  afternoon,  and  had  an  extra  entree  of  rare  delicacy, 
in  spite  perhaps  of  mottled   associations,  for  supper. 

We  got  under  way  again  late  in  the  day,  and  soon 
pulled  under  a  road  bridge,  then  past  the  mouth  of  Squan- 
nacook  River,  and  under  the  bridge  of  the  Peterborough 
and  Shirley  Railroad  just  below,  and  thence  in  a  suc- 
cession of  long,  straight  reaches  to  the  Red  Bridge  at 
Groton.  We  landed  about  a  third  of  a  mile  below  the 
bridge,  and  pitched  the  tent  on  the  high  right  bank  at  the 
edge  of  a  grove  of  pines.  The  camp-fire,  after  dark, 
lighted  up  the  dense  array  of  trees  with  startling  shadow^s, 
and  when  it  was  suffered  to  die  away,  we  were  in  the 
midst  of  a  scene  desolate  in  the  extreme.  lielow,  the 
river  was  still  and  dark ;  opposite,  flat  fields  rising  in 
slopes  of  gentlest  inclination,  stretched  drearily  away  to 
a  sky-line  of  black  clouds ;  overhead,  a  few  stars  brightly 
twinkled  anud  the  spray  of  the  motionless  black  pine 
boughs,  but  elsewhere  there  was  no  light  nor  any  sound, 
save  the  distant  croaking  of  a  frog,  or,  at  a  rare  interval, 
the  dull  rumble  of  a  team  across  the  bridge  above,  and  we 
therefore  gladly  lost  ourselves  in  slumber. 


CHAPTER   III. 

GROTON. NASHUA. 

~\T7"E  })ullecl  back  to  tlie  Red  Bridge  early  on  the  mor- 
row, and  then  walked  to  the  village  of  Groton, 
which  is  about  a  mile  from  the  river.  The  road  leads  up  a 
hill,  which  rises  in  long  and  easy  slo})es,  to  a  road  called 
Farmer's  Row,  which  runs  north  and  south  alono-  the  edg;e 
of  a  wide  plateau.  On  the  wall  bordering  the  Row,  a  stone 
has  been  placed,  by  Mr.  James  Lawrence,  near  his  resi- 
dence, which  bears  the  following  inscription :  "  Near 
this  spot,  three  children,  Sarah,  John,  and  Zacariah  Tar- 
bell  were  captured  by  the  Indians,  June  20,  1707.  They 
were  taken  to  Canada,  where  the  sister  was  placed  in  a 
convent.  The  V)rothers  became  chiefs  of  the  Couohna- 
wago  tribe,  and  were  among  the  founders  of  St.  Regis, 
where  they  have  descendants  now  living."  From  Farm- 
er's Row  there  is  a  magniticent  view,  westward,  over  the 
valley  of  the  Nashua,  wliicli  is  very  wide  but  quite 
shallow.  The  iiills  fade  away  in  receding  masses  of 
green,  the  outermost  circle  set  with  a  rim  of  blue  moun- 
tains which  shoot  up  here  and  there  into  little  peaks,  in 
a  way  unique  and  extremely  pictui-esque ;  while  Monad- 
nock,  in  the  north,  and  Wachusett,  in  the  west,  dominate 
still  all  the  landscape.     From  Farmer's  Row,  the  princi- 


iOO  B()ATIN<r   ritll'S. 

p;il  part  of  the  village  j)i('seiits  a  very  fnii^  aj)j)(3araiice, 
on  .slightly  rising  gi'oiind  mi  a  street  wliidi  runs  t»>  the 
eastward  of  the  Row,  and  nearly  paialld  with  it. 
The  houses,  many  of  which  are  ahnost  eoneealed  in  the 
nndst  ot"  trees,  extend  in  a  hnig,  irregular  line  beneath  a 
heavy  hank  of  dark-green  foliage,  above  which  rises,  here 
and  there,  a  ehnreh-spire,  pointing  heavenward. 

Proceeding  northerly,  along  the  Row,  a  street  leads  to 
the  right  into  the  Main  Street  of  tlie  village.  Near  the 
junction  of  the  streets  is  the  <tld  burying  ground.  On 
the  side  street,  just  before  going  to  the  Main  Street,  is 
the  house  wherein  Margaret  Fuller  was  born  and  passed 
her  girlhood  days.  Then  proceeding  south,  one  comes  to 
the  post-office,  and  in  the  same  building  is  the  town 
library.  Nearly  opposite,  is  the  residence  of  ex-Governor 
Boutwell ;  and  in  rear  thereof,  and  not  far  distant,  is  an 
eminence  called  Gibbet  Hill,  from  a  tradition  that  an 
Indian  was  executed  there.  J'he  summit  commands  a 
very  fine  view.  Then  one  comes  to  the  buildings  of 
Lawrence  Academy  on  the  left-hand  side,  while  nearly 
opposite  is  a  row  of  old  houses,  one  of  which,  at  present 
occupied  by  a  dealer  in  old  furniture,  was  built  nearly 
two  hundred  years  ago  ;  and  there  are  several  other 
houses,  equally  old,  in  other  parts  of  the  town. 

On  the  same  street,  wdiich  is  bordered  on  l)oth  sides  by 
beautiful  elms  (^f  massive  growth,  is  the  old  tavern,  the 
Central  House,  which  was  used  as  a  residence  before  the 


THE  NASHUA  BIVEB.  1()1 

Revolution ;  and  farther  down  the  road  is  the  site  of  the 
house,  marked  by  a  stone  hearing  a  suitabU?  inscri[)tion, 
wherein  William  Prescott,  the  commander  of  tlie  Ameri- 
can forces  at  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  was  born  :  and 
near  at  hand,  is  a  tine,  large,  old-fashioned  liouse,  which 
was,  at  one  time,  a  l)oarding  school,  and  attended  by 
Margaret  Fuller. 

Whoever,  however,  desires  to  know  about  (irotoii 
should  consult  the  liistories  of  the  Hon.  Samuel  A.  Green, 
ex-mayor  of  Boston,  ;i  native  (tf  Groton,  wlu)  lias  nuide  a 
complete  collection  of  the  e[)itaphs  in  the  burying  ground, 
the  early  town  records,  and  w-ritten  a  History  of  Groton 
During  the  Indian  Wars,  besides  compiling  much  other 
miscellaneous  information  of  an  interesting  character, 
about  the  old  taverns  and  stage  lint^s.  for  instance.  There 
is  also  a  very  good  history  of  the  town  l)y  Caleb  Butler. 

Groton  had  verv  much  the  same  e,x[)erience  as  Lancaster 
in  the  Indian  Wars.  The  town  was  settled  in  1655, 
and  was  in  no  way  molested  until  an  attack,  which  \\as 
made  during  King  Pliilip's  War,  Marcli  16,  1676.  The 
inhabitants,  however,  alarmed  by  the  fate  of  Lancaster, 
had  retired  to  the  garrison  liouses,  five  in  number,  tlie 
sites  of  which  are  still  known,  and  were  situated,  four  at 
least,  near  the  present  Main  Street,  (^ne  garrison  was 
taken,  but  only  three  persons  were  lost.  Nearly  all  the 
buildings  of  the  settlement  were  destroyed,  however, 
including   tlie   meeting-house,  the   site  of  which  has   also 


162  BOATIXC   TUII'S. 

been  recently  iiulicatt^d  hy  a  nioinnnont.  Soon  after  llic 
attack,  however,  the  iiiliahitants  ahaiidoned  tlie  phice. 
and  rt'niained  away  nearly  two  years  befoie  they  ventured 
to  return.  They  Avere  subject  still  to  alarms  from  time  to 
tinic.  however,  and  an  oce-asional  assault  and  depredation, 
and.  duriiiL;-  King  William's  War,  an  attack  was  made 
July  27,  1694.  i:i  which  twenty  or  more  persons  were 
killed  and  a  dozen  or  more  taken  into  captivity. 

Not  far  south  of  the  post-office  a  road  leads  off  from 
Main  Street  and,  after  running  westerly  over  the  plateau, 
terminates  on  Farmer's  Row,  just  south  of  the  road  up 
from  the  Ked  Bridge. 

It  is  supposed  that  just  above  the  bridge  on  the  west 
side  of  the  river  was  the  site  of  an  Indian  village,  as 
a  number  of  stone  im[)lements  have  been  found  there 
near  the  bank  of  the  stream  :  and  the  site  of  other  Indian 
villages  has  been  indicated  in  the  same  way  in  other 
places  in  the  town.  Dr.  Green  has  quite  a  large  collection 
of  the  crude  utensils  used  by  the  Indians,  which  have 
been  gathered  in  various  parts  of  the  town,  in  the  rooms 
of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  in  Boston. 

We  returned  to  the  boat  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  were 
soon  under  way.  After  skirting  the  high  east  bank  which 
makes  a  long  curve  to  where  we  encamped,  we  continued 
on  in  a  good  current.  B}^  and  l)y  the  l)anks  were,  for  the 
most  part,  covered  with  a  riotous  growth  of  bushes  and 
above  were  almost  continuously  lined  with  trees,  mostly 


THE  XASHUA  lUVER.  163 

pines.  It  seemed  indeed  much  of  the  time  as  if  we  were 
on  a  river  of  wiklernesses. 

We  pulled  up  after  a  leisurely  row  of  al)out  an  hour, 
perhaps  less,  under  Fitch's  Bridge,  which  was  fastened  to 
tlie  banks  by  two  long  cables.  The  road  east  leads  to 
Groton,  which  is  about  two  ndles  distant.  The  road, 
however,  branches  on  the  way,  the  soutlierly  road 
terminating,  after  a  course  a  little  more  roundabout  than 
the  other,  in  the  village,  while  the  other  intersects  the 
Great  Road,  so  called,  a  road  of  unusual  width,  ft)rmerly 
the  old  stage  route,  wliich  runs  direct  from  tlie  vilhige  to 
Tileston  and  Hollingsworth's  paper  mills,  and  is  there 
continued  over  the  river  on  a  bridge  designated  Emery's 
Bridge  on  an  old  map,  thougli  I  think  that  now-a-days  it  is 
generally  spoken  of  as  the  Paper  Mill  Bridge.  From 
this,  the  third  and  last  bridge  in  Groton,  it  is  about 
a  mile  —  a  pretty  long  one,  however  —  by  the  Great 
Road  to  the  village. 

The  road  west  from  Fitch's  Bridge  likewise  branches 
into  two,  one  of  which,  well  shaded  with  great  mai)les, 
runs  north  parallel  with  the  river,  and  the  other  dis- 
appears around  the  spur  of  a  hill  and  runs,  I  know  not 
where. 

We  obtained  some  supplies  at  a  farm-house,  prettily 
located  on  the  lower  road,  and  had  a  season  of  idleness 
under  the  maples  and  on  the  bridge.  After  a  while  we 
embarked  again  and  pulled  through  the  reaches  and  tlien 


164 


iioATixa  Tinrs. 


landtMl  on  llic  low,  open,  Icl't  Itaiik,  and  liad  luiicli  niidcr 
a  iiuiiiiniotli  oak,  which  was  partly  surroiiuded  at  a 
respect  fill  distance  by  a  large  family  of  small  trees.  The 
river  in  front  was  motionless,  as  if  it  too  were  quietly 
enjoying  a  rest.  The  bank  opposite  was  also  low,  and 
beyond  were  broad  and  fertile  meadows  which  terminated 
against  pretty,  dark-green  liills. 


'"-'  A< 


€/  £_'-'-*ti 


When  we  started  on  it  was  about  three  o'clock.  As  we 
rowed  along  we  heard  the  noise  of  machinery,  which  grew 
louder  and  louder,  and,  ere  long,  we  })ulled  under  the 
Paper  Mill  Bridge  which  was  being  painted  a  very  effective 
red,  and  came  close  to  the  edge  of  a  dam  just  l)elow  as 
water  was  not  pouring  over.  We  could  not  get  by  on  the 
right,  however,  as  Tileston  and  Hollingsworth's  paper 
mills  covers  the  bank  between  the  bridge  and  the  east 
end  of   the  dam,  so   we    pulled    to    the  west   shore    and 


THE  XASIIVA  lUVEl!.  165 

landed  there  on  the  bnlkhead.  It  would  liave  been  easy 
to  make  a  carry  thence  along  the  bank,  but,  having  first 
unloaded  the  baggage,  we  lowered  the  l)oat  over  tlie  dam 
and  moored  her  at  the  edge  of  the  flooring  below,  and  in 
a  lew  minutes  the  l)aggage  was  tossed  down,  stowed,  and 
we  were  drifting  along  in  deep  water  with  a  rapid  current. 
Before  fully  getting  under  way  we  passed  several  women 
in  a  group  on  the  bank,  who  looked,  in  flowing  dresses, 
much  like  Greek  goddesses  of  Hibernian  descent. 

Just  below  where  the  dam  now  stands  there  used  to 
be  a  shallow  place  in  the  river  called  Stony  fordway. 
Here,  on  May  8,  1709,  John  Shattuck,  one  of  the  select- 
men of  tlie  town  of  Groton,  and  liis  son,  while  crossing 
the  river,  were  killed  by  the  Indians,  and  recently  a  stone 
has  been  erected  by  Messrs.  Tileston  and  Hollingsworth, 
near  the  mill,  in  commemoration  of  the  event. 

The  last  man  killed  by  the  Indians  in  Groton  was  one 
John  Ames,  who  was  slain  on  the  west  side  of  the  river, 
not  far  from  the  bridge,  July  P,  1724.  The  Indian  who 
killed  him  was,  however,  slain  almost  immediately  after- 
ward l)y  Ames's  son. 

On  the  east  side  of  the  Hollis  Road,  perhaps  a  mile  and 
a  (quarter  from  the  village,  was  the  site  of  a  house  which 
has  recently  been  marked  by  a  monument  bearing  the 
following  inscription:  "Here  dwelt  William  and  Deliver- 
ance Longley,  with  their  eight  children.  On  the  twenty- 
seventh  of  July,  1694,  the  Indians  killed  the  father  and 


1(>G  ji(>.\T/.\(;  riurs. 

mother  and  five  of  the  children  and  carried  into  captivity 
tlie  other  three."  Of  these  chihlren,  one,  Lydia,  was  sold 
to  the  French  and  placed  in  a  convent,  l)ecanio  a  Catholic, 
and  died  at  the  age  of  eighty-fonr ;  one  jjerished  of  hunger 
and  cold  soon  after  his  capture;  while  the  other,  after 
remaining  with  the  Indians  four  years,  was  i-ansonied 
against  his  will  and  afterward  lived  and  died  in  Groton, 
and  his  remains  now  repose  in  the  old  burying  ground. 

The  scenery  along  the  river  below  the  paper  mills  is 
very  fine.  We  passed  two  or  three  rush-lined  bays,  thick 
with  lily-pads,  and  a  sheltered  cove,  whose  dark  expanse 
was  dotted  with  a  countless  array  of  yellow  lilies  :  and 
now  and  then  a  few  fragrant  white  pond-lilies  which 
bloomed,  however,  at  rare  intervals  along  the  river  border. 
Here  and  there  along  the  turfy  banks  stood  a  great  elm 
in  stately  dignity,  while  on  either  liand  were  broad,  fertile 
intervales  and  hills  near  or  remote.  Occasionally  we 
passed  a  group  of  lofty  trees,  and  farther  down  innumer- 
able S(]^uads  of  pines. 

After  rowing  about  an  hour  the  river  began  to  grow 
wider  and  quite  sluggish,  and  was  often  bordered  with 
sedges.  By  and  by  we  came  to  a  small  but  very  graceful 
islet,  covered  with  trees,  at  a  Lend  of  the  stream.  On  the 
right  is  a  high,  broad  hill,  bordered  at  the  north  by  a 
dense  forest  of  pines,  which  approaches  the  river  nearly 
opposite  the  islet.  We  then  passed  through  a  slight  rapid, 
and  thereafter  kept  along  the  east  shore  in  a  considerable 


THE  NASHUA  11 1  VEIL  167 

c'UiTent  in  the  shadow  of  pines  which  line  the  bank 
ahnost  continuously  to  Pepperell. 

We  pulled  through  tlie  reach,  which  is  quite  long  and 
straight,  with  houses  of  the  village  in  view  at  the  foot 
of  it,  and  landed  just  above  the  west  end  of  the  dam,  and 
then,  from  the  bridge  which  crosses  the  river  just  below, 
examined  tlie  dam  to  see  how  we  could  best  get  around 
it.  The  east  bank  is  high  and  wellnigh  impossible  of 
access.  One  might  indeed  get  a  boat  over  at  the  east  end 
of  the  dam  itself  if  water  was  not  pouring  over,  as  there 
is  a  ledge  of  rocks  below  there  sufHciently  high  to  give 
footing.  It  would,  however,  apparently  be  an  under- 
taking of  doubtful  value,  as  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  navigate  the  river  below  wlien  water  was  })Ouring  over 
the  dam  at  full  head,  on  account  of  rocks  and  shallows. 
We  were,  in  addition,  informed  that  there  is  another  dam 
only  a  short  distance  farther  down.  The  se(H)nd  dam 
is  quite  low,  but  we  concluded  upon  the  whole  that  it 
would  be  better  to  make  a  carry  to  the  lower  mill,  a 
distance  of  about  quarter  of  a  mile  in  all :  and  we  tliere- 
fore  had  a  man  take  the  boat  on  a  wheelbarro-w,  while 
we  followed  with  the  baggage. 

We  had  not  proceeded  far,  muffled  with  parcels  of 
various  kinds,  when  a  rapid  succession  of  hollow  splash- 
ings  fell  upon  our  ears,  and  almost  ere  we  realized  the 
nature  and  occasion  of  the  mishap  we  found  a  couple 
of  dozen  eggs,  which  had  escaped  through  the  dampened 


108 


itoAiiM!  iini's. 


bottom  of  ;i  j)a})ev  bag.  strewing  tlic  liai'd  walk  at  our 
feet,  and  a  wonuiu,  previously  screened  iVoin  observation 
behind  a  pair  of  blinds,  thereupon  hiughed  aloud.  The 
impulse,  however,  that  moved  her  to  merriment  was,  I 
assure  her,  very  pardonable,  and  if  the  accident  })leased 


^..'•-^>^^U 


the  fair — I  hope  she  Avas  fair  —  incognita, 1  am  sure  the 
incident  amused  us. 

We  launclied  the  boat  in  the  tail-race  in  the  yard  of  the 
mill  and  were  soon  speeding  in  a  swift  current  along  the 
western  shore  of  the  liver.  We  soon  landed,  liowever,  at 
the  covered  bridge,  a  huge,  gloomy,  cavernous  structure. 


THE  XASHUA  lUVEB.  169 

with  very  picturesque  surroundings,  especially  about  the 
western  mouth. 

Here,  and  on  otlier  occasions  while  in  the  vicinity,  we 
heard  a  strange  gibberish  issuing  out  of  the  mouths  of 
l)()ys  and  young  maidens,  in  ^vhich  we  finally  distinguislied 
sounds  like  liashee  and  tuthashee,  Avhich  gave  a  key 
to  a  dialect  that,  I  believe,  has  some  affinity  to  the  Latin 
tongue.     A  sentence  sounded  thus  :  — 

"  I  wuv-o-nun-dud-e-rug  wuv-hash-e-rug-e  tut-hash-e-y 
a-rug-e  gug-o-i-nun-gug  wuv-i-tut-hash  tut-hash-e  bub-o-a- 
tut ! " 

Tliis  language,  which,  after  all,  is  simply  an  extension 
of  English,  is  formed  by  doubling  each  consonant  and 
placing  the  vowel  u  ])etween  the  two,  except  certain 
consonants  whose  sound  will  not  permit,  as  c,  which 
becomes  caus  to  distinguish  it  from  k,  and  h,  wliicli 
becomes  hash,  j,  jug,  r,  rug,  and  w,  wuv;  while  q  and  x 
and  the  vowels  remain  the  same.  Pronounced  as  the 
youth  of  Pepperell  pronounced  it,  trippingly  on  the 
tongue,  with  the  rapidity  of  great  familiarity,  it  had 
a  sound  as  foreign  and  unintelligible  as  the  speech  of 
Greek  or  Choctaw.  If  only  the  oft-recurring  "hash" 
could  be  changed  into  a  form  a  little  less  flat  and  dis- 
cordant, the  flow  of  the  utterance  would  l)e,  from  the 
constant  repetition  of  the  most  euphonious  of  vowels,  as 
musical  as  Tuscan  Italian,  or  the  Spanish  of  Castile. 

Pepperell  was  set  off  from  Groton  and  given  the  name 


170  r.oAiiXd  Tin  PS. 

of  Poppercll  ill  lioiior  of  Sir  William  Pepperell,  avIio 
commanded  tlio  New  iMi^laiid  ('X[)editioii  of  six  tliousaiid 
men  that  captured  Louisburi;'  and  subjected  llic  Isle  of 
Cape  Breton  to  tlut  possession  of  Great  Britain,  in  1745. 
The  ])rinei])al  villag-e,  which  is  called  ]\[iddle  l'e[)perell,  is 
about  a  mile  from  the  river.  The  village  along  the  Avest 
side  of  the  i-iver  by  the  mills  is  called  Babbatasset,  Avhich 
was  the  Indian  name  of  the  locality.  East  Village  is 
situated  along  the  Nissitisset,  a  stream  which  empties 
into  the  Nashua  a  short  distance  Ixdow  the  covered 
bridge,  while  opposite  Babbatasset  is  the  Depot  Village, 
as  it  is  called  thereabouts,  though  it  appears  on  maps  as 
East  Pepperell. 

We  encamped  about  half  a  mile  down  river  on  tlu^  left 
bank  mider  a  canopy  of  pines.  We  broke  camp  late  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  next  day,  and  drifted  quite  swiftly  along 
in  a  strong  current,  and  occasionally  were  hurried  onward 
l)y  a  rapid.  The  banks  were  quite  high  ajul  almost 
continuously  lined  with  trees.  After  a  while  the  river 
grew  broader  and  we  passed  several  (j^uite  high  sand  bluffs. 
We  rowed  about  an  hour  altogether,  and  then  landed  on 
the  right  bank,  and  at  a  house  above,  the  iirst  we  had  seen, 
made  inquiry  as  to  our  whereabouts.  The  woman  Avho 
gave  us  directions  said  she  saw  our  boat  coming  round 
the  bend  al)Ove  and  for  a  moment  thought  it  was  a  canoe 
in  which  her  son  was  making  a  voyage  home  from  Canada.. 
I  le  had  intended  to  come  down  the  Passumpsic  into  the 


THE  XASIIUA  FvIVEJi.  I  /  1 

Connecticut,  and  paddle  down  tlie  Connecticut  to  Miller's 
.River,  and  ap  Miller's  River  as  far  as  possible,  which,  1 
should  say,  could  Jiot  l)e  verv  far,  —  and  then,  makiu!-- 
a  carry  l)y  the  Fitchburg  Railroad,  launch  his  canoe  in 
the  North  Branch  of  the  Nashua,  and  so  reach  lunne, 
—  an  interesting  journey  I  hope  he  successfully  accom- 
plished. 

Around  the  next  bend  l)elow  the  })lace  where  we 
landed,  is  a  covered  bridge,  high  al)ove  the  water.  The 
l)ed  of  the  I'iver  underneath  is  quite  thickly  strewn  with 
rocks.  We  had  some  troid)le  threading  our  way  among 
them,  ])ut  at  length  came  to  a  shallow  channel  (Ui  the  left 
through  which  we  towed  the  boat.  It  Avould  V)e  easy  to 
shoot  a  little  fall  the  river  makes  on  the  right  were  it  not 
that  the  water  just  bchnv  dashes  with  great  violence 
against  a  rocky  ledge.  Wc  afterward  heard  it  statc<l  that 
the  Nashua  Manufacturing  Company  intends  soon  to 
erect  a  dam  here.  There  is  a  small  settlement  at  the 
east  end  of  the  bridge,  which  is  collo(][Liially  known  as 
Pumpkin  Town.  The  road  west  from  the  Inidge  leads  to 
Hollis,  which  is  about  three  miles  distant.  It  is  one  of 
the  earliest  settlements  in  New  Hampshire,  and.  I  am 
informed,  still  preserves  marks  of  its  antiquity.  We 
pitched  the  tent  on  the  right  bank  of  the  bend  next 
below  tlie  falls,  as  night  was  falling  up(jn  the  shadowy 
landscape. 

We  were  under  way  again  early  Monday  morning  and 


17!i  I'.oM'iMi  rini's. 

rowed  aldiiL;'  tlic  cast  hunk  in  ;i  lair  ciirrciit,  and  tor  a  long 
tinit'  in  llic  sliadow  ot"  (|iiilt'  an  cxtLMisiN c  wood.  AVild 
roses  and  (lowers  of  various  hue  hloonied  at  rre(|ucnl 
intervals  along  shore,  and  the  air  was  full  of  invigorating 
freshness.  \\\  and  ])\  we  passed  ;\.\\  island  of  coiuidy  pro- 
poition--,  covered  with  rich  nnch'rgrowth,  aud  woods,  and 
lields  ill  constant  succession.  While  rowing  along  we 
amused  ourselves  hir  a  time  hy  hlowing  soap-bub])les. 
The  raiid»ow-hue(l  globes,  instead  of  bursting  when  they 
touched  the  water,  as  we  su[)[)osed  they  would,  glanced 
lightlv  along  even  where  it  was  calm,  or  gayly  bounded 
from  wav(!  to  wave,  usually  a,  long  time  beforti  Hashing 
out  of  sio'ht.  Occasionalh'  a  bubble  mounting'  in  air. 
moved  (juickly  to  the  impulse  of  every  variable  wind 
iiither  and  thither  until,  like  its  companions  on  the  water, 
the  brilliant  iridescence  burst  into  nothingness. 

After  about  an  hour's  pull  we  came  to  Mine  Run,  the 
hist  fall  in  the  river  above  Nasluia.  Below  the  dam  at  the 
head  of  the  run  Avas  a  dry  bed  of  naked  jagged  rocks 
Avliich  curved  d(nvnward  out  of  sight  between  steep  l)anks 
•covered  with  dreary  pines,  and  ad  the  valley  below  was 
a  silent  sea.  of  green  spray.  A  carry  in  the  rough  cluunnd 
to  the  head  of  the  river  would  have  been  long  and 
difhcult,  so  we  rowed  over  a-  boom  of  logs  and  carried  the 
boat  around  the  gate-house  at  the  right  and  launched 
her  in  the  canal  beloAN',  which,  however,  at  once  broad- 
ened out  into  a  wide  reservoir,  bordered  with  trees  except 


THE  NASHUA  RIVER. 


173 


at  the  end  below  where  it  is  scarred  by  a  great  bank  of 
sand  which  glistened  in  the  snn.  We  lingered  some  time 
in  the  open  space  by  the  gate-honse  and  in  the  woods 
around  the  head  of  the  reservoir,  amid  a  strange  solitude, 
undisturbed,  except  by  the  noise  of  the  water,  whicli 
struggled  out  from  under  the  gate,  and,  at  brief  intervals, 
uioaned  like  some  monster  in  distress. 

When  we  embarked  and  put  off  into  the  reservoir  we 


MffinSt.  Bhid^A/ashucl 


were  for  a  while  in  much  doubt  which  way  to  proceed. 
We  pulled,  however,  along  the  northern  shore  and  at 
length  discovered  the  head  of  the  canal  which  was  screened 
from  view  around  a  bend,  and  enjoyed  very  much  our  [)ull 
through  the  long,  uniform  readies  that  gently  curved  one 
into  another  between  tree-lined  banks.  The  canal  is  wide 
and  deep,  and  the  water  runs  along  through  it  in  heavy 
volume  with  strong  current.  Tlie  canal  is  dug  along  tlie 
side  of  a  hill  and  near  the  end  is  (piite  high  above  the 


174  BOATIXU   Th'fl'S. 

river,  which  lies  in  peaceful  (|uiel  in  the  valley  below. 
After  a  delightful  sail  of  nearly  two  miles  in  all,  we  lauded 
at  a  carriage-gate  on  the  road  whicli  runs  along  the  outer 
enbankment  of  the  canal,  and,  carrying  tlie  boat  across 
the  road,  lowered  her  down  the  steep  bank  on  the  other 
side,  and  iu  a  few  minutes  launclied  jicr  once  more  on  the 
Nashua.  We  pulled  up  river  a  short  distance  and  pitched 
the  tent  in  a  piece  of  woods  on  the  grounds  of  the  Nashua 
]\Ianufacturing  Company,  which  extend  for  three  miles 
between  the  canal  and  river. 

During  the  night  we  Avere  awakened  by  a  terrific  clap 
of  thimder.  which  was  followed  by  dazzling  flashes  of 
lightning,  and  a  furious  thunder  storm  })urst  upon  us. 
The  wind  was  so  violent  that  we  were  for  a  time  appre- 
hensive that  it  would  demolish  the  tent,  which  had  been 
less  securely  fastened  than  usual,  but  fortunately  the 
canvas  stood  up  under  it,  and  we  escaped  a  wetting. 

We  embarked  for  our  final  pull  Tuesday  morning  at  an 
early  hour.  We  rowed  througli  quite  a  long  reach  past 
a  wooded  bank  on  the  right,  which,  after  a  while,  receded 
around  a  deep  recess  ;  while  o[)posite  were  broad  fields  with 
hills  beyond,  and  before  us  was  the  tall  brick  chimney  of 
a  mill,  and  liere  and  there  amid  green  slopes  the  steeple  of 
a  church  and  houses  of  Nashua.  We  soon  pulled  around 
an  aljrupt  l)end,  wooded  on  the  left,  Avhile  opposite,  a  little 
farther  down  the  reach  below,  was  the  long,  high,  imposing- 
mill  of  the  Nashua  Manufacturing  Company,  and  our  way 


THE  NASHUA  lilVEIi. 


175 


was  then  in  the  midst  of  the  city.  At  the  end  of  the 
reach,  Avhich  is  lined  on  the  south  side  with  mills  and  on  the 
north  with  dwellings,  is  a  long  bridge.  There  is  a  dam 
just  below  Nashua  whicli  supplies  motive  power  to  the 


'""''^^^ash. 


li  and  ivieririi^ 


Jackson  Mills,  and  it  is  only  a  short  distance  below  the 
mill  to  the  Merrimac.  We  landed  at  Boynton's  boat- 
house.  No.  46  Front  Street,  whence  it  is  onlj^  a  few 
minutes'  walk  to  the  dep6t  of  the  Boston  and  Lowell  Rail- 
road, whicli  is  near  the  north  end  of  the  bridge. 

It  is  thirty-seven  miles  by  rail  from  West  Boylston  to 


17G  I'.OATJM!  Tiiirs. 

Xiishua,  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  the  distance  by  river  is 
at  least  sixty.  Tlie  trip  occupied  a  week,  but  we  were 
actually  in  the  l)oat  rowing  only  about  thirty  hours  in  all. 
There  is  indeed  an  almost  constant  temptation  to  linger 
along  the  delightful  course  of  the  gentle  Nashua,  and  at 
till'  end  one  could  not,  I  think,  well  help  indulging 
a  regret  that  the  voyage  had  changed  from  a  reality  to 
a  dream. 


T.  J.   SHAW   &   CO. 

MANUFACTURERS  OF  AND  DEALERS  IN 

OARS    AND    SCULLS 

OF   ALL   KINDS. 


Spoon  and  Fancy  Oars  and  Paddles  Made  to  Order. 


ALSO,  DEALERS  IN  SKIFFS. 


130  &    166   COMMERCIAL   STREET, 
BOSTON. 


Prices  sent  upon  application,  and  goods  forzvarded  to  any  address. 


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